


Robo Effect

by Star_Sage



Category: Mass Effect, Robotech
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Gen, Multi, No Catalyst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-06-09 02:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 33
Words: 111,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6884740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_Sage/pseuds/Star_Sage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Robotech wars are over. The survivors of Humanity and the Zentraedi are now alone in the universe, and so, come together, becoming something new, becoming Terrans. Now this race will find itself thrust into the galactic scene, as the Citadel Races and those beyond test these young upstarts, and in the shadows, old things begin to move.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Records of War

Two thousand years ago, there was a war. That, in an of itself, was not unusual, war was the one constant in the universe. Where life flourished, there was war. Be it the mundane war of one animal striving to live through the day by killing another, or the war of a single cell, merely trying to keep itself together against the harshness of existence. Conflict was how we truly come to understand the world, and it helps us to learn our place within the grand tapestry of existence.

This war though, it was different than most. On a planet in the M51 Galaxy, a small green orb called Tirol, there lived a people. These people had learned, in the course of their wars, how to use the power of life itself, the thing we call genes and DNA, to create warriors. Over countless conflicts, which scarred the face of their world, they improved these soldiers, each defeat of one leading to an advance, its victory for another gaining a needed resource to push themselves farther.

These warriors were called, the Zentraedi. Their power seemed unstoppable, and dozens of races fell before their might as they traveled the stars of their galaxy. One such race, one that gave them much difficulty, was the Invid, who's power was much like the Triolians, the power of life. However, where the Triolians fought for their power, improving it through the mind,the Invid discovered instead, a natural means of altering themselves, of evolving to ever greater heights using a plant they called, the Flower of Life.

Capturing a sample of this simple looking flower allowed a Triolian scientist named Zor to create a near infinite energy source, one he dubbed, Protoculture. Using this in conjunction with their weapons and systems, the Triolians created something they called, Robotechnology, which allowed them to create even bigger, better weapons, conquering and enslaving dozens of races in only a few short years, including the evolving Invid, the powerful Marduk, and the warrior Praxian.

Each conquest only fueled the drive of the Triolians, who renamed themselves the Robotech Masters. Soon, they applied the Protoculture to their genetic experiments as well, causing the Zentraedi to not only become nigh invulnerable, but increasing their size an entire order of magnitude, and their mass greater still. These now fifty foot tall warriors ensured the dominance of the Robotech Masters over the entirety of the M51 Galaxy, and they began to look beyond.

Zor, his body preserved for almost a thousand years using advanced techniques of the Triolians, lived through the wars, and continued to design weapons based off the Robotechnology he had pioneered, eventually creating the ultimate weapon. Equipped with the first Protoculture Matrix, a machine that produced a seemingly unlimited quantity of Protoculture, he called this magnum opus, the Super Fortress, with a weapon on it capable of obliterating a planet, or even causing a star to go nova.

It was at this point, this turning point of history, that Zor came to realize what this constant war had done to his people. They lived only to conquer now, and when a seemingly small rebellion, a few hundred fools, decided to make war on them, his people did the unthinkable. They turned his greatest creation on the entire planet, wiping it out with a single shot, a bright flash consuming all that was before it, and finally awakening a long dormant part of Zor's spirit.

Disgusted that his people would go so far to kill only a few, Zor decided to deny them his great work, and, with a few seemingly innocent actions, he was able to cause the Super Fortress to Fold out of the galaxy, warping it into unknown space. The others of his race reacted as one would expect, executing him, and ordering their soldiers to scour all of space for the great ship, for they could not have it, or worst of all the Protoculture Matrix it housed, fall into the hands of their enemies.

Two hundred and twenty five years ago, another war was raging. On a small blue planet, at the edge of the Milky Way, there was a species, a race known as, Humanity. They were confined to their own world, even after making a few light steps onto other planets of their solar system. Now, however, they used all their resources to fight one another, for the weapons of destruction, their greatest powers, had been disabled, and it allowed their third world war to rage for a decade, with no clear winner in sight.

Nations fell, battles turned on a single bullet, and there were no such things as civilians anymore. Each person was a world unto themselves, and even as their governments pressed them harder and harder, the people just wanted the fighting to end. As if answering their prayers, a great light fell from the sky, a powerful thing that destroyed half a continent as it came down, before slamming into an island in the south pacific, an island called Macross.

This fallen star turned out to be an alien ship. Where it had come from, how it had gotten to earth, no one knew, but the remaining leadership, seeing this threat to their existence, this massive warship, set aside their differences, and began to work in unison to prepare for what they felt would be the inevitable invasion. Hammering out a peace accord, the nations of the world formed a United Humanity, and began to work to restore the fallen ship to functional status.

Over the next decade, humanity flourished. The technology of the ship, mixed with human ingenuity and elbow grease, catapulted the young race forward. Leaps and bounds in almost every area, from military to the private sector. Yet, those at the top, those who knew all that had been discovered in the ship, despaired, even as their fellow man celebrated. These advances spoke of a culture so far beyond them, that if they came to reclaim the fallen vessel, humanity would be destroyed utterly.

On the day of the great ship, the Super Dimension Fortress Macross' maiden voyage, the fears of the leadership were proven, as ships appeared in the sky, and attacked. That was the beginning of the Robotech War, as the Zentraedi, massive warriors all at least forty feet tall, made war on the humans of Earth. Humanity surprised the stoic warriors though, using the technology of the SDF-1 to its fullest, fighting off assaults that should have smashed them, even when the great ship was isolated from their home.

Still, the Zentraedi had spent almost a millennium tracking down the Super Fortress, and the prized Protoculture Matrix within, and they weren't about to allow these micronians, these beings that didn't even come up to their ankles, to win. In desperation, the armada was assembled, five million heavy cruisers, and the Command Fortress, were moved into orbit of that small blue sphere. On the command of Dolza, leader of the Zentraedi, they fired, and in a flash of light, the Earth was devastated.

Humanity was not completely spared, as billions were killed in the attack, but they had one final trick to play. For you see, the Robotech Masters had so designed the Zentraedi that they had no culture of their own. All they knew was war, and in their thousand year search fro the Super Fortress, they had been rendered almost a joke. Even the idea of something other than training or fighting was alien to them, and when exposed to Earth culture over the course of the war, and the year long pursuit of the SDF-1, they learned to want something more.

This caused a revolt in their own ranks, and Dolza's armada went to war against itself, as a song, a simple song, was sung by a small human girl, and it gave every warrior that moment of pause. In to the great confusion stormed the very object of the Zentraedi's search, the SDF-1, and its powerful weapons. Using those weapons, the power of a small sun, they tore great swaths of destruction through the fleet, obliterating many vessels, until finally it destroyed the Command Fortress itself, chopping off the head of the Zentraedi, and ending the war in space.

Rebuilding from the ashes of the world, the civilians who had survived, either in shelters or inside the SDF-1 itself, began to spread. Of humanity, a scant seventy eight thousand souls remained, though of their enemies, the Zentraedi, almost four million survived. Still, they were warriors, and recognized the defeat to mean they were no longer a great power. Most chose to settle with the humans, some even using a new technology, micornization, to become like the human, standing eye to eye with them as the world began to grow again.

Not all Zentraedi did so, however, many saw themselves not just as free from the Robotech Masters, but free of the humans influence as well. Some demanded conquest still, and they rallied around a banner, the banner of Khyron, last of the Zentraedi Warlords. This madman brought two years of war to the already broken world, and drove the planet Earth to near exhaustion. His insane quest eventually took him against the humans and his own kind, decimating their numbers even further, before finally dying in a suicidal attack which destroyed all of his forces, and the SDF-1, which was still damaged from the previous war.

When this final conflict settled, the people looked around again. Now less than half as many people survived, and only two million Zentraedi. Worse, what parts of the world they had been able to recover were now rendered into lifeless wastes, unable to support the life of the humans. It was then that something was proposed that changed the destiny of all on Earth. A man had discovered how to use the growth technique Khyron had used to enlarge micronized Zentraedi on humans as well.

Desperate to survive in some form, humanity, all thirty thousand survivors of it, stepped into tubes alongside their Zentraedi allies, and together they grew into giants. Beings of size and mass to rival the gods of old, with bodies that required no sleep, and could survive off Protoculture slurry, which, thanks to the survival of the Protoculture Matrix, was plentiful. These two million and then some people, those who survived the process, decided to drop the barriers between them, the people taking a new name, Terran unto themselves.

This new people began to rebuild in the wasteland, slowly but surely returning a few patches of green to the once lifeless world. Better yet, as they rebuilt the natural world around them, they began to rebuild the technology base of their people. No longer constrained by the wants of sleeping, eating, or any of the usual failings of biology, they instead threw themselves into increasing those sciences that had languished in the years of war, causing the quality of life to skyrocket for most Terrans.

In two hundred years, the population had blossomed, going from a few scant million, to almost thirty five billion, and a civilization that spanned a dozen or more worlds within the Sol system. From Mars, to Venus, from the moons of Jupiter, to those that circled Saturn, Terrans had expanded. With their hardy biology, it took little to make a world that they could inhabit, and better yet every new expansion seemed to increase their knowledge of the universe, allowing them to unlock new technologies.

So went the history of the Terrans, who only sent a single expedition beyond the boundaries of Sol. This Robotech Expeditionary Force had been sent to the M51 Galaxy, home of the Robotech Masters and their great empire, with the purpose of forming relations with the long ago makers of the Zentraedi. However, upon entering this space, the Terran forces were startled to find only dead worlds, and suns that burned out of control in systems that had, only a millennia ago borne verdant life.

It took the researchers of Earth only a few decades to determine what had happened, painting a dreadful picture of what an Empire became as it fell. Without thinking, the Robotech Masters had sent their entire armada into the sea of stars, scattering the Zentraedi far and wide to seek the lost Super Fortress. So great had been their need to find this weapon, that they had never even considered what might happen when their soldiers were absent.

So it had passed that war had torn the M51 Galaxy apart, and the Robotech Masters, bereft of their warriors, fought with the technologies that Zor had crafted for them. With such wanton disregard did they wield their weapons that world after world had been burned away, until, in a fit of possible madness, they had destroyed even their star, leaving Terrans the only known life in the universe now.

Saddened, and more than a little frightened, the leaders of the Terran Federation, the governing body of all Terrans, decided to isolate themselves for now, to not expand their borders until needed. Such time would not come for a few generations, they had assumed, and so they allowed their people to flourish and take every piece of land and space Sol had to offer, until an surveyor around Pluto made a discovery, one that startled every mind in the system.

Charon, Pluto's cold, ice moon was not a natural body. No, it was something far more than that, for the ice had grown around a hard core, something that had been constructed by an unknown race. Quick to study this structure, Terrans found something that defied the physics they knew, a device that, rather than fold space, as their own warp technology did, instead used some kind of gravity alteration to sling a mass from one location, to another.

Seeing this fantastic new device, many a young Terran was enthralled, and their elders, unable to truly hold back a popular tide, a need of the human nature of the Terrans to explore, and the Zentraedi nature of them to dominate. So a great expansion began from Sol, into the Local Cluster. On worlds that were easy to inhabit, colonies sprung up, and on worlds of harsher nature, mining towns began to grow. Terra had come to the stars, and soon enough, those who ruled these stars would learn just how mighty Terra could be.

(Author's Note:

This story is a work of love of two great franchises, the Robotech Universe and the Mass Effect one. I've seen almost everything involving both, including reading the novels(The first two Mass Effect Novels are still worth tracking down, and Robotech: Battlecry was really good to, though I would recommend the game over the book for being more unique)

Anyway, before you go forward, I figured I'd inform you of some things that have caused some questions from the readership so far. A bit of a cheat, I know, but it's what I do.

1) The Terrans are 60 feet tall, with only a few feet difference between most individuals.

2) The Robotech timeline used goes only up to the end of the Reconstruction Blues era. It was both my favorite part of the story, and was a bit less...a lot less confusing than later stories.

3) This only crosses over Robotech and Mass Effect. I will drop names of some other franchises I enjoy, but they are the only two universes involved.

4) I'm looking for a beta, someone to help me go over the story as I write it. If you're interested, please drop me a PM here, or at my email, iceelfshala@gmail.com

5) Remember, if you like it, drop a review/comment/pm along with the favorite. It helps me know how well I'm doing, and helps keep me invested in the story.

That's all for now, and I hope you, my fellow nerds of the internet, enjoy this tale of how a race of giant humans alter the course of galactic history.)


	2. Contact

"Would you like a system report, Captain?" asked a feminine voice, and the man sitting in his chair, staring bleary eyed out at the stars in his viewer, sighed.

"And is there anything to actually report?" he asked, waiting as the AI control in his ship went over logs, scans, and transmissions from home. Sighing a little, he began to toy with the idea of leaving the bridge and getting himself a drink, only to just slouch back into his seat and wait as the computer sorted through everything.

"In my assessment, no. We are on course to the Sling Shot of this system, and should arrive within a few minutes. Shanxi control reports nothing of note, save the scores of last night's games, and my sensors detect nothing of note in the entire system," said the AI at last, and the man sighed again, getting up out of his seat and stretching.

"Alright, so any idea where this Sling Shot will take us?" asked the man, looking in one monitor and using a hand gesture to cause the screen to zoom in. The image changed from a star field to the huge device, many times the size of the frigate he was flying in, and far harder to damage.

"My current data indicates it would lead us to the just beyond the nearby nebula. Terra Nova Command is hoping to find more M-Type worlds for the colonization effort," she informed him, and the man just scoffed. He knew his orders, and would follow them, but really, Command wanted more worlds? Even Terra Nova itself, the largest out of Sol colony was only a few million people, most others couldn't even boast of ten thousand. What the heck could they need all this room for?

"Alright, get Tulley in his ship then I want this done as fast as possible," said the man, and the AI chirped at him, before turning its attention to the requested crewman.

"Lieutenant Tulley, we are within a few minutes of the Sling. Captain Archer has requested you get prep your veritech for its mission," said the female voice, surprising the two men and three women playing pool. The sudden voice caused the man holding the cue stick to jump a bit, missing his mark and causing the cue ball to ricochet off course, bouncing over the edge of the table, caught by one of the women standing off to the side.

"That's definitely a scratch," said the woman holding the ball, and the man standing with the cue in his hand looked about to protest, only to be cut off as one of the women held up her hand and went to a nearby screen.

"Acknowledge T'Pol. Tell Archer I'll be right down," she told the screen, getting a nice blue glow in it, before the AI turned its attention elsewhere.

"Game called on account of work. What a terrible thing to have happen," complained the man without a pool cue, walking away himself with Tulley to help her. The remaining to women just shrugged, the man leading them out of the room to their stations.

Ten minutes passed as Tulley and her wingman got into their veritechs. In two hundred years, the design of the modular fighters had changed little, except for being scaled up of course. To a twentieth century human, the vertich at rest looked like a jet fighter, but any survivor of the Robotech War could see the lines and curves of the thing where the ship could transform from the quick jet, to the versatile humanoid robot called a battloid.

Checking their suits, the two pilots climbed into their machines, silently going over the pre-flight check lists. Protoculture reactors fully charged. Engines clean and good. Tools and weapons, both green. T'Pol's link to the veriteches said they were ready to go, and as the frigate finally got in range, the two pilots pressed the launch buttons, the frigates bay opening up to allow them to fly free.

The thrill of the weightless moment, as the grav systems in the veritech spun up to give the pilots a dozen. This was what it meant to be free, to be burdened not by a planet's pull, but to drift in the stars, making your way through the heavens. Once they settled in, the two turned on their engines, and pointed themselves at the object that dwarfed them, the Sling Shot.

"This is Tulley, I have the Sling in my scope, moving in for inspection and repair," said the pilot of the lead veritech, gently pushing her fighter forward. Soon, she was within reach, and pulled a lever in her cockpit marked B. With a grinding sound of metal on metal, the veritech changed. Limbs, arms and legs, unfolded, as the wings swept back into compartments, and slowly, the once jet, became a humanoid shape, which reached out and settled its hand on the Sling.

"Beginning first run diagnostics," Tulley informed the crew as she pushed a button, and then got that odd sensation of vibration as the sensors in the veritech ran through the unit's arm, into the Sling Shot. Slowly, displays in her cockpit showed a wire frame image of the ancient relic, and then began to glow red in spots to indicate damage, wear, or just places that needed tuning up.

"Man, this thing is almost pristine, nothing like those last two we found," he told his crew. "I can get this one done in an hour."

"Affirmative Lieutenant," acknowledge Captain Archer from the frigate's bridge, and then settled in to watch Tulley work her magic. The woman was one of the engineer corps, some of the best the Terran Federation had to offer, and while there was still some unanswered questions about the Sling Shot's tech, it didn't stop the corps from learning how to fix the things.

Over the next ten minutes, Archer got to watch the seemingly dimnuative veritech work its way around the Sling, stopping at places to open a panel here, or push at a seem there, its hand sparking with welding lasers as it did its work. Looking at his scope, Archer sighed, about to order T'Pol to start preps for a Sling Shot, when suddenly his monitor flashed blue, and his sense instantly leapt to sharp attention.

"Alert, unknown ship approaching. Unknown profiles, energy signatures not in database. They're not ours Captain," said the female voice of the ship AI, and the monitors in front of Captain Archer switch from looking at his man on the Sling Shot, to a new ship.

Terran ship design followed, for the most part, a Zentraedi aesthetic, functional, but not ugly, with rounded smooth edges, which gave the reflex cannons on the ships larger firing angles. The ship on the monitor though, it was nothing but sharp angles, and wicked looking points. From the keel to the stern, it seemed like the thing was fashioned like an old arrowhead, and it was pointed straight at them.

"Shepard, get your ass up here, we've got a code blue situation. I repeat, we have first contact with an unknown bogey," said the Captain, pushing a button on his controls, before beginning to go over the available data. Looking at the things profile, he saw it was hot, hotter than anything flying through space should have been, like it had just come out of the atmosphere of a planet or something.

"On my way, Captain!" shouted the commander, and he could hear the thud of boots behind him, as Commander Shepard raced to the bridge, landing in the seat of the second in command, and then quickly going through displays.

"What the? T'Pol, this can't be right. They're only like a hundred kilometers from us. How'd they get so close?" complained Shepard as she began to bring other sensors to bear on the ship.

"Unknown. Extrapolation from current data indica...new data incoming, other ships have entered sensor range," said the AI, and both humans got to watch as new ships appeared, or more accurately, slid into being.

"Real Space FTL?!" shouted Archer, looking at the display, and then moving a hand over it to cause the thing to rewind, and then play back the recording. Both Terrans watched in amazement as elongated images of more of the unknown ships came into view, and then shortened, becoming small vessels that now hung around the larger one they had first seen.

"T'Pol, begin sending the First Contact package, and give me stats on the big ship," said Shepard, as her station began to ping and blip with her hands flying over the buttons and keys before her, slowly bringing every system up to full, while in the belly of the ship, the remaining crew members either fell into turret wells, their own displays showing targeting reticules, or began to suit up in powered armor.

"The larger ship I would estimate to be of a size with the Phoenix herself, while the smaller vessels or slightly larger than our veritechs," said T'Pol, bringing up an image of their frigate, and then overlaying it with the alien ship.

"So a frigate and a fighter escort then," said Archer, and Shepard shook her head.

"Probably not, T'Pol, do you see any windows or other viewing apertures on the vessel?" asked the second officer, and the image of the vessel began to rotate around, finally flashing blue in one spot, and then zooming in.

"Hmm, a small peep hole?" asked Archer, and then noticed as T'Pol caused the wire frame image of the ship to be overlayed with what their sensors were seeing, and then he could see what he was certain was a silhouette in it, before T'Pol helpfully showed an image of the humanoid, then placed a Terran next to it.

"Micronians?" observed Archer, and Shepard nodded at the statement.

"Makes sense. Most life out in M51 was around that size. The Zen were only up to our level because they were designed that way," commented Shepard as she continued to work at her station.

"Any response yet?" she asked of the AI.

"Negative, I am currently transmitting the First Contact Package on all known channels. I also have all sensor banks open, waiting for any attempt at contact from the aliens," the AI responded, and Shepard nodded, going over her training for this situation. If communication couldn't be established she would have to-suddenly a blaring alarm interrupted her thoughts.

"The main vessel of the formation is growing hotter," said T'Pol, showing a thermograph of the ship on the Captain's screen, as it shifted all the way up from red, to purple, causing the crew to wonder just what was going on, a split second before five objects launched from the front of the ship, traveling at a significant portion of light speed.

"Projectiles launched, kinetic weapons. Target, Lieutenant Tulley's veritech," said T'Pol, and below the bridge, in the gunner's well, all three gunners watched the things sail towards them. Impact timers popped up, with only seconds on them, and the trained men and woman instantly reacted, hands going to control sticks, each taking their assigned reflex cannon, targeting the projectiles.

With a speed that would have been impossible for a human mind, or even one of the old Zentraedi, the Terran gunners took aim, and each fired. The reflex cannons sent odd vibrations through the Phoenix as lances of blue light shot from their tips. Each shot was nearly perfect, the three working in concert so not a single bit of energy was wasted, the projectiles in space meeting the power of the reflex weapons, and being reduced to less than clouds of metallic vapor as the attacks met.

"Shifting to target enemy vessel," said the three as one, and began to take aim at the offending ship.

"Belay that. They fired, we stopped it, I don't want this to turn into a shooting war yet," ordered Captain Archer, and the three gunners acknowledge the order by merely locking their weapons on the ship, their fingers holding over the triggers, but not yet pulling them.

"Shepard?" asked Archer, and the Commander's fingers vanished as she pressed key after key, finally slamming her fist into a nearby wall, which already bore a slight impression of her fist.

"Nothing, just shooting at us. Captain, permission to do an EVA contact?" asked Shepard, and Archer only had to think about it for a heartbeat before he nodded his agreement.

"Take the stealth armor. If you can get close enough, I want you to take out those ships engines," he ordered, and Shepard looked like she was about to protest, after all, she was assigned to the Phoenix just for this situation, and she should have been the one making orders, but she bit her tongue. The Captain was being cautious, especially after being shot at for seemingly no reason. It only made sense to limit a hostile's options.

"Aye Captain," she said, snapping off a quick salute before rushing down the halls of the ship. Within five minutes, one of the bay doors opened, allowing a humanoid shape to float free. The black armor seemed to vanish as it moved beyond the Phoenix, the thrusters that propelled it buffered so they didn't shine. Inside the ship, Captain Archer began to go over his options, while the two veritechs at the Sling just sweated, wondering just what the hell the other ship had been thinking firing at them.


	3. Contact(The Other Side)

"Would you like a system report, Captain?" asked a feminine voice, and the man, sitting in his chair, staring bleary eyed out at the stars in the windows before him, sighed.

"Report, Cadet," he ordered, and the female in front of him began to rattle off the day's reports. All green, all good, and all ready for battle. A battle that he was being denied, again. Somewhere, out amid the distant stars, entire fleets were being mobilized, ships prepped, and crews trained. Out there, war, or at least a limited skirmish, was happening, and here he sat, his fleet of one cruiser and six frigates, with enough fire power to level any major city from orbit, were just patrolling.

Of course, he knew that those two facts were related. The batarians, those blasted four eyed freaks, were moving openly against the Council's will. Oh, there were apologies from their embassy on the Citadel, token efforts to blame the fleets that came from their homeworld into the Skyllian Verge and the Local Cluster on rebels and pirates. These areas of space, long undeveloped due to how rare it was that a Relay could send you to them, were being eyed by the Hegemony.

So, the Council had to flex its might, to aid the batarians in their, 'time of need', and deal with the pirates and raiders, all of which had Hegemony military uniforms, and even had to be turned over to their government for 'punishment'. Everyone knew, from the lowliest crewmen on the frigates, to the generals in their grand dreadnauts, that the batarians were just reequipping their men and sending them right back out, so they could sow panic and slowly claim the space, setting up makeshift colonies that would, of course, become Hegemony controlled worlds when the time came.

Still, he was a captain in the Hierarchy. His duty to Palaven said he would patrol these lifeless systems, destroying any ships that shouldn't be here, and hopefully getting those idiot politicians in the Citadel to finally crack down on the four eyes. Looking forward out of his view, he saw the tell tale lines of light that said his ships were traveling at FTL, their destination having been input the night before, as they made their way towards Relay 314, inactive, but important to check nonetheless.

The cadet finished with her report, and he motioned for her to turn around, as he stalked away from his chair near the front of the ship, and made his way towards the rear. At every station he saw his troops, each one working in perfect unison with the others. Most wore gloves, as their fingers danced over the holographic controls before them. Some, like the cadet, were bare handed, having the sensors that the gloves provided surgically installed in their skin, to allow them to use the holos easier.

Finding no fault with anything in his view, he kept moving back, finally passing the last set of stations, and finding two figures staring at the galaxy map that hung before them. The two men were debating something, though he only heard a little of the conversation as he got closer, the lines on the map they had been looking at vanishing, as the two turned to face him. Both snapped a salute, one he returned as he looked over at the map himself, and then turned to them.

"Something interesting, Kryik?" he asked of his commander, and the man, his face showing a few lines of worry in those rocky features, just shook his head and sighed.

"Nothing worthy of note. Just running a few sims," said the commander, as he leaned forward and pushed a button to return the lines that had been displayed. Looking it over, he noticed quickly that it displayed the latest reports of fleet movements, of the larger, better equipped armadas standing at the ready just outside batarian space, and all the patrols their ship knew of.

Watching, he saw some new blips pop on the map, and then was astonished as they flew a rather circuitous route, hopping to the edge of the Terminus Systems, and then back again, arriving right in the middle of the Verge, having bypassed every fleet. The action then reset, and he saw, again, the same thing happen, with a different route, and even a bit of action for one small patrol, which got soundly destroyed when the batarian fleets sent their largest out to crush them.

"Disturbing sims," commented the captain to his subordinates as he walked up beside them, and began to run some numbers himself.

"Vakarian seems to think so. He's the one who wanted to show this to me," commented Commander Kryik, and the captain sighed again, knowing exactly where this was going.

"Lieutenant, did you really waste computer cycles on this fantasy?" asked the older turian of his younger officer, turning to him. The tone in his voice, the look on his face, and everything else about him said this was a dance they'd had many times before.

"They weren't a waste, Captain. I think it's clear that the batarians could easily slip around our patrols in that sector, but this fleet could get there within a week and bottle them up, and maybe even hit them as they came out of the relay," he protested, and the captain just shook his head and rubbed his fingers on the top of his head in annoyance.

"And you don't think that the generals will have considered that, and placed a fleet there as a trap?" asked the turian, as he pushed a single button, and the sim replayed again, this time with a large force of cruisers and even three dreadnaughts added to it, stationed equally between the three relays the young lieutenant had been basing the sim around. This time when the batarians got there, they were wiped out utterly, the power of the turian military obliterating them.

"It might have, but the generals are far from the front lines, and we," he had been about to continue when the captain raised a hand, silencing him.

"Normally, I would applaud someone as young as you worrying about tactics on a larger scale than a single battle. It shows you do care about things beyond yourself, but on this, you will listen to me. We have our mission, and that mission is to patrol this sector until...," the captain began to talk, idly feeling that stopping sensation of his ship coming out of FTL. Normally, he would have ignored it, an old hand like himself barely feeling the sliding stop, but then, he realized voices had become hushed in the forward compartment, and he pushed a button on the console before him.

"Cadet, report!" he demanded.

"We have contacts sir, three of them, around the relay," came the reply instantly, and the three turians looked at each other, before the captain and commander rushed to their stations just behind the map, which shifted from the galaxy to show their forces and then the unknowns around the relay, while the lieutenant instead ran to one of the consoles along the wall, and which shifted to display targeting information.

"All hands, we have contact, battle stations," stated the captain simply, and while he couldn't see it, in his cruiser or the four frigates, he knew everyone was getting to their posts, as the data on the three unknowns began to come in. The display before him, which had three dots for the contacts, slowly resolved their shape, surprising the old turian with their oddity.

The first appeared to be some kind of aerofighter, no unlike things he'd seen in history holos back on Palaven. The wings swept back, but paneled so they could be adjusted mid flight, and with a duel set of engines to power them. The thing was holding steady, possibly with some kind of thrusters to aid it in maintaining its position equidistant between the larger vessel and the relay.

The large vessel looked more like a space born ship. The curves were a bit too smooth for his taste, but that might mean it was some kind of supply ship, rather than a war vessel, despite being the size of his own cruiser according to the sensors. More, it was cold. Colder than ships in space should be, even traveling a few lightminutes at FTL built up a large supply of heat, but according to the thermograph, all the ships before him were dead cold.

Most interesting was the one that seemed to literally be on the relay, its form, rather than the aerodynamic visage of a space or atmospheric ship, it was humanoid, two arms and legs, with a head. This seemed to allow the thing a bit of versatility though, as its hands were reaching out and touching the relay. As he watched, he saw the thing actually start to pull some kind of tool from a space on its arm and hold it at the relay, as if he were repair-

"Status of the relay!" demanded the captain.

"It's still inactive, but I can see it starting to come online, Captain," said Vakarian from his seat, and the captain of this expedition was faced with one of those historic moments, those times when, if you knew they were there, seemed to last for an eternity.

In front of him, he saw the mass relay activate, and the three ships using it to get away, only to return, broken and battered, as they were pursued by dark shapes he could imagine only as terrifying nightmares. Things that had, until then, known nothing of the wider galaxy. These shadows overtook the three vessels, uttering destroying them, and then turning on his own command, which only had a few seconds before they were torn apart as well, and the monsters advanced outward, worse than the Rachni Wars or the Krogan Rebellions as they slaughtered worlds.

Around him, he took in the reports of others, some of them probably important to the here and now, but seemingly trivial in the face of this. He heard something about odd radiation from the larger vessel, seemingly directed at them. He heard one of the cadets at a station mentioning it seemed like an old style transmission. He ignored it though, and began to issue his orders.

"Bring all main guns to bare! I want that ship at the relay gone, now!" he shouted, and everyone on the bridge reacted. Their hands went to controls, and the thrusters were fired, targeting solutions calculated as mass effect fields started to form somewhere deep in the belly of the great cruiser, energy being built up around bits of metal that seemed so small, but were being spun along an axis to give them true stopping power.

"Sir, are you sure this is the best idea?" asked Kryik beside him, and the captain turned, just staring at the man with an expression that told him he did.

"If they turn that thing on, those batarian idiots could unleash another Rachni, or worse. I will not allow history to remember me as the one who let that happen," he said simply, and Kryik nodded at him. The order had been given, the command itself explained. Vakarian, from a nearby control, looked like he wanted to protest, but he kept his mouth shut. These didn't look like batarians to him.

With a dull, staccato of thunks, something launched out from the bottom of the cruiser, huge projectiles with enough force that the frigate sized humanoid vessel was done for, no matter how large a barrier it had. They went at a significant portion of light speed, covering the distance between the launch and the target in a few minutes, everyone on the bridge waiting in breathless anticipation, hoping that they had done the right thing as the death they had dealt sailed.

Then the projectiles vanished, his first thought being they were intercepted somehow. That wasn't possible. The calculations needed to make an interception at relative velocities was just too great to calculate in the short amount of time, and even if you could, spinning a shot up to power took some time in and of itself. Yet, as he watched his display, he called up visual sensors, overlaying what they saw over what thermographs and radar did. The visuals showed a bar of blue light emerge from a dimple on the large ship, and hit his own shot dead on.

"What in the hells was that?" asked the cadet looking out the port before her, and her captain silently echoed her thoughts. What was this ship, which sported a new type of weapon, and just who was crewing her.


	4. Confrontations

The first volley of shots were a slowly dispersing cloud of particles between the pair of ships, those super heated bits of metal giving the two forces a likely preview of what would happen should they come to blows. Between them, invisible to both ships, a black silhouette made its way slowly over to the turian side, the thrusters giving it momentum that built gently, giving the one inside the shape a chance to look at her targets, while idly checking over the double barreled reflex rifle in her hands, making sure the thing was fully charged and able to do what she needed.

Aboard the turian vessel, a dozen sets of hands were flying over floating holographic keyboards. To many outsiders, it seemed like the two fingered turians would have a bit of a disadvantage when it came to typing quickly, but within their own system, the fingers not only seemed to dance, but each subtle motion, a joint twitch here, a fingertip shake there, seemed to cause their displays to change a dozen times over, as they ran every bit of radiation from the ship across from them through every sim they could, looking for some pattern, some way of communicating.

Aboard the Terran ship, the captain sat in his seat, looking at monitors, as T'Pol ran through lines of data, studying everything she could, trying to decode anything she could from the alien vessel before her. Every blip, spark, or just odd movement was added as she went over and over again, even beginning to use old electronic warfare techniques to try and find a link with the aliens. In their gun wells, the three crewmen went over firing solutions, all of them taking targets in the force before them, as the two veritechs slowly drifted away from the Sling Shot, to cover behind their mothership.

Minutes passed, and finally, after crashing a dozen stations on the bridge of the turian cruiser, a link was established. At first it was flawed, no image, only some jarring screeching sounds, but the communications officers were hard at work on even this tenuous connection. On the other side, T'Pol found herself accessing data streams that were alien in structure, but still data. Her brain, a computer large enough to store the position of every star in the galaxy, devoted all its power to the task, translating every byte she could get her hands on, until finally she made a breakthrough.

To the Terran's eyes, an image blossomed in his monitor as T'Pol began to filter the transmission from the alien ship. A face slowly resolved out of static, one that was oddly shaped, with mandibles on the side of the mouth, and texture that looked like rough stone. The mouth opened, the bits on the side pulling away, and an odd cry came from inside, high pitched, but still obviously supposed to be words. The AI went to work on this immediately, using the system she was accessing to start a translation.

To the turian's eyes, a flat image began to form in front of him, overlaying the sight of his ships and his foes. He had expected some batarian slaver scum, but was surprised that, instead, he saw something with far more hair. At first, he thought it was some asari who had decided to test some new device, but he was quickly dashed of that expectation when the thing in front of him opened its mouth, and made grunting noises. He knew they had to be words, but what they said he had no clue, looking over at a display that formed, beside the image, a request to keep the creature talking, which he did by talking at it.

Fifteen minutes, thirty two seconds after first contact between the turians and the Terrans, speech became possible, as the translation program in the turian computers finally deciphered the speech of the odd mammalian thing before him. At that exact instant, accessing their systems, T'Pol found the same program running, and did a quick copy of it into her own system, as familiar words allowed her to alter it quickly, creating a slapdash, but workable program, which could let her know what was being said.

OoOoO

"Do you understand me?" asked the turian of the orange tinted image before him. He still wondered why the thing was flat, and intended on asking one of the techs about it later. It probably had something to do with this primitive's system not being able to handle full holo displays.

"I think I do, can you understand me?" responded the mammal, her words slurred a bit, almost like a krogan on a full drunken bender, but at least at the level where one knew what they were saying if one listened closely.

"Excellent. Now identify yourself," said the stone faced turian with the air of a man used to being obeyed, his mandibles starting to move in and out in an irritated fashion.

"My name is Jonathan Archer, Captain of the Terran Federation Starship, Phoenix. Whom my I inquire are you?" asked the thing in the floating square.

"My name Desolas Arterius, Captain of the Turain Hierarchy Vessel, Talons. It is now my duty to inform you that you and your crew are under arrest for violating Council Edict forty six stroke seventy three. Your ship is to match velocities with my command ship, and upon setting up a connection, we will take your crew on board, where we will interrogate them, to see if any farther action will be necessary," this was said in the same voice as before, and the turian just seemed to stare at the mammal in the image before him, waiting for her to answer.

OoOoO

A thousand thoughts went through Archer's head as he listened to this stone faced alien read him the riot act. Most of them were born of his Zentraedi blood which told him to just wipe this idiot off the face of the cosmos and then go on to conquer his people. Those thoughts, instincts instilled in his genes, he ignored, and instead followed other lines of thought. Most of those still required a bit of violence, but then, he was willing to give his instincts that much, and the arrogant way this stone face just seemed to think he would surrender, made Archer smirk a little.

"I believe we are at an impasse then. My orders in first contact situations are to try for peaceful relations, but given your first action was to launch an unprovoked attack on one of my subordinates, I feel that avenue has already passed us by. Give me one good reason to submit to the authority of someone who opens fire first, and demands surrender second," said the human, watching that face on the screen in front of him, turning looking out of the corner of his eye to find numbers running across several other screens, showing T'Pol hard at work accessing more of the turian's computers.

"My attack was hardly unprovoked. You were attempting to reactivate a dormant mass relay. That alone is enough to warrant the extermination of your entire formation. The fact that you stopped is the only reason I haven't ordered a full assault," responded the turian, his irritation growing more obvious, even to someone of another species, mostly thanks to the translators actually capturing tone of the statements pretty well.

"Mass relay? You mean the Sling Shot? That's very interesting, considering they're just dormant. If you didn't want someone coming along and reactivating them, your race should have scuttled them completely, rather than just leaving them there," countered Archer, giving the face in the monitor a moment of pause, before he made an odd gesture, his two fingered hand reaching up to tap on the side of his face. Archer, despite this being the first time he'd seen the species, actually recognized it as something analogous to rubbing the bridge of your nose.

"Primitive, so very primitive. I will brook no farther comments from you. I'll offer you five minutes, and when I contact you again, I expect you to surrender to my custody, otherwise I will be forced to obliterate you," and with that the monitor died, the face vanishing, and being replaced by the image of the seven ship formation slowly turning themselves so they were all pointed directly at the Phoenix.

"He seemed rather pleasant," commented T'Pol sarcastically, and Archer could only nod his head in agreement as he turned to face her monitor.

"I'm beginning to think we could learn more from the wreckage of his ships than from the crews," admitted Archer with a smirk.

"Possibly, though doubtful. As of now, I'm in their system completely, and have access to most of their files. Give me a few minutes to work, and I think I could download every byte of data there," she informed the captain, getting the man to raise an eyebrow.

"What about ecm? Aren't their ship board AIs resisting you?" he asked.

"They would be, if they existed. This ships system appears to have no AI controllers at all. In fact, the worst ecm I had to deal with was an attack algorithm, which I've already convinced to not only sit up and roll over, but to play dead for a while," she said, and he watched a little digital avatar of T'Pol playing on the screen with a small dog shaped mass of numbers.

"You have full access then?" he queried, curious as to how far she might have gotten.

"Not total yet. That will take some time, even with this pitiful defense, but I can give you things like a crash course in their history, and who each of the officers on board the cruiser and the frigates are," she told him, flashing pictures and names on his main monitor.

"Can you shut down their weapons?" he asked.

"Given twenty minutes, maybe, but we've barely got four left of Desolas' timelimit. I do think...yes, that would work," her voice seemed distracted, and Archer just sat there, letting the AI think for a few seconds.

"Okay, their ship is weird. I can see lots of protections of things like the shields, the weapons, and even the engines, but the controls for all of those systems are holographic," she told him at last.

"Holographic?" he repeated with a questioning tone.

"Yeah, light projections, not solid state like buttons or switches," she clarified for him.

"And how does that help us?" responded Archer, thinking he knew where she was going with this line of attack, but wanting to make sure.

"Well, every projector is hooked up to the same program, and that program is actually pretty low priority protection. Looking at their schematics, only like half their systems even have any kind of manual override, and all of that's for turning things off, like the engines of the weapons. Heck, I think the doors will be locked solid if the holos are turned off," she said, her monitor showing a wire frame of the larger vessel, and then highlighting what he assumed were the doors on board.

"That seems like quite the system vulnerability," commented Archer, wondering if this was some kind of trick. No species he knew of would have intentionally hobble their defenses against any kind of attack, and to be this open to an attack. It could be a trap, and yet, it was a very inviting one.

"How long till you can shut them down?" he asked at last, looking over at his own monitor, seeing the timer that T'Pol had helpfully provided there, showing he had only a minute and a half until the turian's deadline.

"Any time you're ready captain," she informed him.

"Alright then, inform Shepard to be ready to attack if this goes south. I want her to disable only though. Can she blow something out on their ships that won't destroy them?" he asked, and T'Pol's virtual head nodded.

"Easy, the engines are almost completely separate from the main body of their ships. Her rifle should be able to punch a hole straight through the things. I'm confident that won't be necessary though," she told him, and Archer just nodded.

"Give her the info then, and put Captain Arterius back on my screen," he ordered, watching the countdown vanish only to be replaced with a still annoyed look stone face.

OoOoO

Shepard drifted in space. In front of her, just in visual range, was the formation of arrowhead ships. She had been a bit startled when their engines had flared to life, and for a moment she had been able to fire, only to see that they were just shifting position, and she decided to wait for orders. She wasn't even sure her rifle would work on these things, after all. Those projectiles had been kinetic in nature, almost useless against a barrier system, but there was no telling what defenses she might be up against. One shot might be all she had, and she had better not waste it.

"Hannah, do you copy?" came the voice of T'Pol in her ear, and Shepard clicked a button with her chin, opening a laser channel with the ship, something that couldn't be tapped or tracked unless someone got between her and the Phoenix.

"I'm here, T'Pol. Do you have orders for me?" she asked, and got a face full of info dumping, including a weird stone faced thing, and some wire frame images of the aliens vessels, which soon highlighted sections near their aft portions, right where the glowing thrusters were.

"Affirmative. I'm going to try something that should disable the turian vessels. If it doesn't work though, you'll have to use more forceful means to get our point across. Hit these sections on the ships, and you should destroy their engines completely," said the AI, and Shepard shifted her gaze, the wire frames coming to overlay each of the ships she could see, highlighting her targets.

"Alright, just tell me when if I need to start firing," she said, pressing a release on her double barreled rifle, causing the thing to split down the middle into two single rifles, that she then pointed at the main vessel and one of the supports, her fingers on the triggers, waiting for the order.

OoOoO

"Captain, I'm getting a transmission from the Terran ship," said one of the officers, and Desolas smirked to himself. The primitive still had almost a full minute, and had probably spent the previous four trying to think of some way out. She had obviously realized how outmatched she was, and was calling back slightly early to help smooth over her surrender.

"Bring her back onto my display," ordered Desolas, and was soon confronted with that smooth, asari-like face again.

"Have you considered your position?" he asked, a bit of smugness creeping into his voice, hoping that this confrontation would be just what he'd need to push his star forward, and become a general.

"We have, Captain Arterius. I would like to make a counter proposal. I will send one of my veritechs with you, and one of your frigates will come with me, and we can put this incident behind us, in the name of peace," offered Captain Archer, her voice filled with sincerity. Some of the crew, including Commander Kryik and Lieutenant Vakarian were of a mind that the offer was a good one, after all, this incident could just as easily lead to a war, and after having seen the power of the Terran's odd weapons, they didn't think that would be a good idea.

"Unacceptable! I offer no terms, and will brook no dissent. You will surrender your ships and your crew to my care. We must find out how many of your people have committed this crime, and how much effort it will take to bring you in line with Galactic Law," he stated this, after the first word, in a monotone, trying to put all of his experience at command into the order, and the face in the small screen seemed to sigh, bring up her hands to cover his mouth, before turning to something only she could see.

"T'Pol, can you leave this connection open?" she asked of someone out of view.

"I believe so Captain, shall I begin?" asked another, softer voice.

"Make it so," was the command given, and then all at once, the stations all over the bridge began to wink out. Controls that allowed the turians to monitor everything from engine heat, to mass effect field size, to barrier density, all went dark, and the men and women at the stations took a single moment to see what was going on before beginning to try and force their terminals back to life, but finding them dead. Only one station remained active, this one showing the face of the Terran, who smirked at the turian on the other end, as he looked positively flummoxed.

"Now then Captain Desolas, I think it's time for you to surrender yourself to me," said the Terran, a bit smug now herself, as she fold her arms in front of her. Before Desolas could give an answer though, the image winked out of existence, and the crew was left standing there, their captain almost literally gnashing his mandibles against each other, while across his ship, many found themselves locked in rooms or stations, the door controls vanished.

OoOoO

"What the? T'Pol, what happened to my connection to the turians?" asked Archer, staring at the blank monitor, only to get an answer in the form of the view of the enemy ships, the six frigates starting to warm up.

"I'm sorry, Captain. It seems I underestimated what the algorithms were capable of. As soon as I shut down the holos aboard the main vessel, every outside connection among the frigates shut down automatically," apologized the AI, as the view of six veritech sized ships began to change as they prepared to fire.

OoOoO

"Shepard, take out those frigates!" came the crying voice of the AI in her ear, and Shepard reacted as quickly as one would expect a soldier to. Her fingers already on the triggers of her guns, she pulled off the first two shots without a second between the order and the action. Lances of blue protoculture energy flew from the barrels, and before the two targeted frigates had moved a fraction of a meter, those lances slammed home against the barriers.

Protoculture projectiles were an odd thing. Part energy, part kinetic force, and part heat blast. All three of these tended to mean anything impacted by such a blast was reduced to so much slag, or just out and out vaporized, as many a Zentraedi ship had found at the hands of the large cannons of the SDF-1 during the old Robotech war. Still, this odd mix of energies interacted strangely with the barrier of the turian ships, a thing designed solely for kinetic impact.

The barriers appeared like a bubble around the ships, a small shining shield against the even smaller shots. It gave a little to the attack, the edge pushing inward at the points of impact. Then the formally blue barrier red shifted, as the energy of the projectiles streamed along the surface of the barriers, lines of light crisscrossing the surface, until webs of blue light surrounded the red bubbles, which burst outward into space, the ships stopping dead as their systems failed.

"Life form readings?" demanded Shepard of T'Pol, wondering if they would have to change plans, or if she would be forced to kill the turians, as the two ships began to drift a little.

"They're still alive in there, Shepard," confirmed the AI after a moment, and the commander squeezed off two more shots in quick order, giving only a second of thought as the process repeated before she brought her guns to bare on the last two ships. One had the bubble pop again, but the other apparently had just enough time to turn the barrier off, hoping their armor could take the hit, only to have the beam carve through the metal of their ship, piercing the engine, and unfortunately sending them spinning off into space.

"Captain, that last ship is in a spin, and I'm not going to be able to catch it," she informed Archer, as she tried to jet after the thing. Her momentum should have matched the stupid thing, but somehow the ship kept accelerating away from her, the spin only becoming worse the longer it went.

"Affirmative, I've already got Lieutenant Faraway on it," came an almost instant reply, and Shepard nodded, stopping her pursuit and watching her sensors. Using subtle motions of her jaw, she was able to control the display before her eyes, and get a view of the veritech still in jet mode as it pulled away from the Phoenix, and then punched itself forward as the engines behind it took on the appearance of brightly glowing stars.

Watching him fly, she wondered just how he would stop the frigate as it kept spinning in space, growing more and more distant, and faster too. When the lieutenant reached it, just before it grew too fast for him, she had to whistle a bit due to his impressive stunt. Flipping end over end, he transformed his veritech to guardian mode, arms and legs unfolding from the jet, which then grappled onto the turian vessel, hands locking over engine powers, which he squeezed shut, while adjusting where his feet, tipped with the engines of his jet mode, were positioned, killing the spin of the ship in only a few powerful bursts, before finally stopping it in space.

"Katana Faraway, mission accomplished. Where should I park this one?" asked the young man.

"You and Tulley move the frigates within a few hundred meters of the cruiser, then come back. Shepard, you get back here too. We'll discuss what we're going to do with these turians," said Archer simply, and Shepard watched as Katana began to physically haul the ship through space, Tulley's veritech joining him, before she turned her attention to the Phoenix, wondering just what might be going on aboard the alien vessels, now they they were helpless.

(Author's Note:

I want to thank everyone for their support so far. This is by far the fastest growth of any story's following I have ever had, and that really feels nice. That said, remember, reviews/comments are greatly appreciated, and each one encouraged me to keep going.

That said, as I'm sitting here, reading over this, the third version of chapter 4, I think I might want some help in the editing department, and would ask if anyone reading this would like to become a prereader. I can't offer anything to go with the position of course, but you'd get to read the story a bit early, and help me iron out the details.

Also, I plan on doing a Codex entry list for the universe of Robo Effect, both because lots of other Mass Effect Fanfics do it, and it would be a great way to establish some things I don't feel like doing in the story itself. If you have anything you want to read about in regards to this universe, ask either in a comment/review or in a private message. Tech, Characters, Historic events are all open, though do remember, I am ignoring everything past the Macross Reconstruction Arc of Robotech, so don't bother asking about things that come from the Robotech Masters or beyond, though you might see a few familiar faces from those.)


	5. Relations

Several tense minutes passed on the bridge of the Talons, the Captain still staring at the spot where the Terran's face had been, waiting for it to reappear. At stations with windows, a few turians saw their escort ships begin to advance on the Terran ship, only to be shot from somewhere behind, their kinetic barriers being destroyed before they were adrift, lifeless and seemingly dead. The bridge of the Talons, was unfortunately cut in two by the loss of power, and the command deck on which the Captain, Commander, and a dozen other officers sat, saw nothing of this, only able to wait.

Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, the ship began to hum again, and projectors flared to life. Turians at stations instantly tried to gain control of their ship, only to find said control impossible. Each display showed static information, and not a single control seemed to be present. Worse, the doors, locked due to the controls being gone, and sealed as an emergency precaution against breaches, remained shut, without anyone in anything but the launch bays having any way to cut through the thick alloy of the protective seals.

"Hello, can you hear me?" asked the voice of the Terran again, and her image reappeared before Desolas, floating in the open air, and causing the turian to ball up his right hand into a three fingered fist, ready to punch it, but staying the infantile gesture, and just staring at her in contempt.

"I can hear you, Archer," he told her.

"Excellent, I apologize for the delay, my AI found herself unable to hold off disabling all displays on the ship. She has since corrected the issue, as I'm sure you've noticed," she commented to him, smirking in that infuriating way.

"You will release my vessel, now!" demanded Desolas, pounding his fist into the rail in front of him, leaning forward so that he was almost face to face with the alien. An AI too?! These Terrans flaunted every Council Law! He wouldn't stand for this.

"I'm afraid that is impossible. Your attitude during this has been less than accommodating of a First Contact situation. As such, I am going to be taking control of your vessel. I must now ask if you have any way of transferring personnel between ships in space, as we have been forced to disable your frigates, and they will not be able to fly with us," said the image of the Terran, and Desolas growled in frustration.

"You will release us now! I will not be captured by a primitive scum who doesn't even know what a Prothean is!" he said again, his voice nearly rabid in its intonations.

"That is not going to happen, Captain Arterius. Now do you have a way of transferring personnel or must I-" she was cut off as the turian struck the holo, his fist passing through the image.

"I will not stand for this! I would rather die here than let this stand! All stations, blow out the bulkheads in your section!" he ordered, drawing his own pistol, and then aiming for a spot he knew was a structural weak point on the command deck, a spot thin enough that one well placed mass effect round would expose them to vacuum.

Everything happened at once then, the turians around the bridge seemed to slow down, their brains unable to process a command that was literally suicide. Luckily, those closer to their captain were faster, and Commander Kryik responded to an order of that sort in the only sane way, he punched his commanding officer. Desolas, dropping his aim, stared at his first officer who hit him, and then held his pistol right at him, the officer diving aside just as the captain pulled the trigger, sending fire into the half a dozen stations behind him, and forcing the bridge crew to start going for cover.

Either wanting to punish a disobedient officer first, or forgetting about his own order, Desolas rounded the command display on Nihlus, walking past several huddled officers, mostly cadets, who had no idea what was going on, or what to do. They all just stared as their captain took aim at their commander, and pulled the trigger again, and this time Nihlus was just a slight second too slow, the round burying itself in the flesh of his leg, just above the foot, and causing him to fall down to the deck with a heavy thud, blood already pouring from the wound.

Desolas walked up to his commander, a gleam in his eye telling everyone on the bridge his intentions, as he took aim at Nihlus' head. Before he could pull the trigger, he was struck from behind, hard, and his vision went black, unconscious before he hit the deck, as behind him stood Lieutenant Vakarian, breathing hard, with a pipe held in his hands. Looking down at the knocked out captain, he just stared for a few moments, then walked over, and offered a hand up to his commander, helping him up, and intending on taking him to the medbay, but Kryik waved him towards the face of the Terran instead, and nodding, Vakarian took him to stand before the alien.

"My name is Command Nihlus Kryik. Captain Arterius has been...relieved of his command. That puts me in charge, and I would ask what your terms of our surrender are, before I accept them," said the turian, hopping on one foot, the flesh of his leg torn, but not truly sundered. It could be healed, if they got him to medical, but for now, as Vakarian helped him stand, others on the bridge rushed around, one grabbing the emergency kit to help her commander, while three others aimed their weapons at the unmoving form of their captain, ready to fire if he made a wrong move.

"We hope that this is temporary, as such, terms of surrender are merely that you accompany us to a colony we have in this system. We'll see about getting some diplomats to meet us there, and then we'll accompany you back to your center of government to establish formal relations," said the Terran simply, and Nihlus nodded at the rather open minded demands. If he had been in Archer's position, he doubted he would have been as fair with his terms.

"We accept those terms, though I must admit, even if you release the door controls, none of the ships in our battle group is equipped for personnel transfer in space," he admitted, and it was the Terran's turn to nod.

"Alright, we thought that might be the case but wanted to make sure," she said this, before turning her head to face something behind her.

"T'Pol, do you have the atmospheric mixture for them?" he asked, no answer could be heard, but the Terran soon turned her head back towards Kryik.

"Alright, we'll generate an artificial atmosphere envelope. When that's done, you should be able to get your crews between the ships, remind them to bring as much supplies as they can, as I don't think we'll be able to feed you with our rations," said the Terran, causing the turians in the bridge to wonder just what he was on about, before he vanished.

The instant he was gone, everyone was startled to find doors all over the ship flying open, including those that lead out into space, and allowing them free movement again. Intraship communications were still down, but Vakarian quickly adapted, ordering the various bridge personnel to spread out and give word to everyone of the altered command structure, while he escorted Commander Kryik to the medbay, and a few of the cadets were ordered to take Captain Arterius to holding, to await a decision.

OoOoO

"Well, that should take them a while. How long can you keep the envelope up?" asked Archer as he turned to T'Pol's monitor.

"As long as we need. Better question, who's going over to their ship? It's gonna be a bit cramped," said the AI, looking through her monitor at the crew of the Phoenix, all seven of which had jammed themselves into the bridge. All eyes instantly turned to the woman at the rear of the group, still wearing the base of her powered armor.

"Like you have to ask?" she said with a smirk. This was, after all, part of her job. She was trained as a First Contact specialist. At least one person on the Sling Shot...she supposed Mass Relay, repair crews was. As such, she would try and make a good first impression, but the captain, nodding solemnly, seemed to have something else in mind for her.

"Alright, you'll transfer there while we've got the envelope up," he told her, and she saluted, about to leave, when he held up his hand.

"And I want you micronized before you go over," he added, and her expression drooped quite a lot, as the gunners began to snicker a little, until Tulley whacked the one closest to her on the back of the head.

"I don't think that's necessary, sir," said Shepard, and Archer shook his head at her.

"I do. You're going over there to establish some connections, not squash anyone, and besides, if the schematics T'Pol got of the ship are right, the only places you'd fit are their loading bays, and I'm certain they'll be storing supplies there. In order to be friendly, I want you to see eye to eye with these turians, so get down to their level, and then make some friends," said Jonathan in that voice that seemed to cut off any argument.

"Aye, sir," said Shepard. The command had been given, and she was going to follow it, even if she didn't like it. Micornizing was a bit disconcerting, both due to the reduction in size and mass, but also because of what it involved. Still, it was common enough. Engineering staff sometimes needed to do it to reach very tight spaces on ships, and so anything the size of the frigate had a tube to allow it, one she walked right up to, and then shuddered a little as she began to strip.

Outside, she heard the footsteps of her comrades as they prepared for their own tasks. The ship would need to turn around now, and head to Shanxi, the local colony in the area that had discovered the mass relay that was the cause of this whole thing. The colony was an agricultural world, light on metals and other resources, but heavy on arable land, which Terran crops took well to. Of course, at best speed it was over two weeks away.

Finishing stripping, Shepard placed the armor base suit in a nearby locker, before stepping up to the tube. It was, in basic terms, just a glass booth with a smaller version of itself at about ankle level. The only break in it were various openings in the floor and ceiling, all of which were closed at the moment, but would open the instant she was inside and shut the door. Gathering her courage, Shepard did just that, hearing the click of the door as if it was a coffin nail.

The instant that door closed, liquid began to pour from overhead. Not slowly, like a nice shower, but all at once, like a hose. The stuff, unlike water, tingled too, causing her to get goosebumps over her skin, as the stuff began to rise, quickly filling the chamber. When it reached her neck Shepard, involuntarily, took a deep breath, and let the stuff cover her completely, as she tightly closed her eyes, wishing she had something to listen to other than the whir of machinary.

Then it happened. The liquid entered a charged state, and arcs of lightning played over her skin from small electrodes set in the walls of the tube. Her skin felt like it was on fire, and she gasped, opening her eyes, her muscles twitching as she tried to stay still. Around her, the water was filled with tiny drops of light, coming off of her skin, and she felt, though she had been told it was psycho-semantic, that she was losing energy, being drained like a battery.

Slowly, the world around her grew, the walls of the tube pulling away from her as she collapsed in on herself. This process, of getting the protoculture literally torn from her body, was painful, but she endured, her training requiring it of her. Soon, the final drop emerged, and the liquid was draining out of the tube, leaving a nude, glimmering wet Shepard coughing on the floor, her body falling it its knees as her legs had to again support her weight.

"Hate that," she said to herself as she rose. Her skin looked red in places, but otherwise fine. The process was, after all, used regularly enough that it was safe, even if it was painful. Still, she did a quick physical check of herself, ending in a series of stretches, pulling on muscles that, without the backing of protoculture, felt stiff and weak, but she figured she'd get used to that soon enough. Walking forward, she shook herself a bit, the last drops of the liquid falling to the floor of the tube before she walked to the slightly distant tube door, and let herself out.

Outside, the world was now huge. She could recognize things only by the fact that she had set them up. Beside the tube was locker where she had just stored the clothes she'd been wearing, her boots that had seemed so light, now larger and heavier than her. She tried her best to ignore that though, or the shuddering impacts of the others still moving around outside as she walked to the nearby smaller locker, and soon picked out a set of clothing, something a little more casual than the engineers' work suits, and finally made her way to a small door in the wall.

Inside the wall were the corridors an engineer would use to avoid running into a full sized Terran while at micro size. Around her she could see the tubes and pumps of protoculture that powered the ship, each with a green glow that she found comforting as she walked forward, being greeted by a hissing sound as a small lift came to rest in front of her.

"Would you like a ride to the nearest airlock?" asked T'Pol's voice.

"How long would it take me to get there on my own?" she asked, genuinely curious as she stepped onto the lift, and grabbed onto the pole in the center, before the thing rose off the floor and started down towards the destination.

"About twenty minutes, but I can get us there in one. Oh, and Katana's got a supply kit waiting for you there, since I don't think you'll be able to eat what the turians do," aid the AI as the lift flew on. Nodding at this, Shepard just stared out of the holes in the wall, small vents, and watched as her friends, still full sized, could move at a walk faster than she could do at a run now. Being micronized sucked, but she did understand, and besides, it would be nice to get to learn about these strange aliens.

OoOoO

Commander Corinthus looked out the view port of his bridge, and felt utterly floored. The instant contact with the command cruiser had been lost, the formation went into action, ready to burn their way out of what was obviously some kind of trap, and bring a larger fleet back with them. Then something had shot at two of the six frigates. What it was, he still had no idea, as none of the radar, ladar, or even thermograph showed anything.

Worse, it fired again almost right after, disabling his own precious, Claw Four. The shot had been odd to say the least though. It impacted the barrier, and it blew it outward. The view of it from inside was so radically different than anything he had ever seen before that he was certain it was some kind of geth weapon. Those synthetics had been hiding behind the Veil for generations now, and they must be making their move, a fact that nearly had him bouncing off the walls.

Then, it looked like his suspicions were confirmed, as a bipedal synthetic form as large as his frigate came by, and he grabbed a side arm, ready to repel boarders, or die whenever the geth decided to blow his ship away. It didn't come to that though. Instead, he felt his ship move, the mass effect field still high enough to give them some gravity, as the mech pulled them, dragging them physically into sight of the rest of the formation, before flying off.

When finally, every ship was in sight, a larger craft came into view. He recognized it instantly, the mothership of the formation that had been reactivating a dormant mass relay. Seeing it with his own eyes, without the holos coloring it orange, he hand to wonder about it. It was green in coloration, a dark, forest green that was counterpointed by two bulges on either side of the hull which were light blue instead. More importantly, it had rounded edges and curves, where he knew warships to be more angular and from behind he could see two great engines pushing the thing forward, their glow almost blinding as he looked at them.

Then another flash, this one seemingly filling the whole of space around the ship, and Corinthus thought he was dead, only for the light to fade a moment later, and he could see something out there, a distortion just beyond the large vessel, which oddly distorted the light of the stars beyond. Worried, wondering what this strange vessel would do to him and his crew, the Commander did his best to reassure his pilot, looking out at the strange alien vessel, praying to the ancestors for salvation.

And now the strangest thing of all happened. Out of the view port he saw a shape coming from the cruiser Talons in the distance. At first, he thought they were just ejecting some trash out of an airlock, wasteful, but with them stopped the way they were, maybe the best way to do it. Then it came closer, and he noticed some odd shapes to it, until finally, it came right up to the view port of his bridge, and knocked. Just casual as you please, a turian, without a space suit just a small thruster pack, was knocking on the window.

Quickly, he got the message, and let the turian in, a cadet from the cruiser. It seemed that the formation had surrendered to the aliens, and would be accompanying them to their homeworld in the system. His ship dead in the water, the alien cruiser hanging overhead, and somehow making a field of breathable air in space, he didn't argue the surrendering part, and quickly got his crew to start making preparations to leave, prioritizing food and supplies due to the aliens apparently doubtful they could feed them.

Luckily, the formation had been on a long patrol, weeks worth of stores were on every vessel, enough to last every turian at least a month or two. Packing it all up, he had the men and women of his command get to the airlock, and with some trepidation, he opened himself to space, holding his breath for as long as he could, before taking in the strange air outside. It tasted odd, too much nitrogen he thought, but was otherwise breathable, and so he motioned for his crew to follow him, feeling odd as he leapt into the weightless void of space.

All around him, he saw other crews doing the same as he was, the commanders directing lines of turians to their waiting vessel. The sight of suitless beings literally jumping from ship to ship, some assisted by thrusters, but most just using their legs, was a little disconcerting, but Corinthus put on the best face he could for his troops. Then all motion stopped, as suddenly a sound echoed through the air, a whirring loudness of motors, and a huge section of the alien ship opened up.

Oddly, out of the opening came only a single form, before it closed up. This thing, looking like your average sentient, grabbed a spot on the hull of its vessel and pushed off, joining the line of turians in their entrance, and causing many an eye to turn towards the alien. Soon, she grew closer, and details began to stand out. She was the common form for most sentient life. Two arms, two legs, and a head, in the typical proportions. That was good at least, as if they'd been like the hanar or the elcor there might have ben some problems getting her on board.

He was sure it was a she too, as she grew closer. Her skin was smooth, like an asari's, though where that race had blue skin, like a sapphire, this one had white or pinkish white skin. The fur on top of her head was blue though, though shaded far darker than most asaris skin. She wore an odd garment as well, with a backpack that appeared as green as she ship she had launched from, but a single piece suit of weirdly dark blue material. It appeared as smooth as her skin as she grew closer, and though seemed to be made of some odd padded material. The thing also seemed to have a single zipper in the front, and the shoulders were separated from the rest by a line of golden yellow that circled around them.

Slowly she came onward, the distance she traveled greater than those of the turians from the frigates. Most stopped at the airlocks though, and watched her come down, her flight sure and true, even without thruster assistance. She landed like a dancer, her hand reaching out to the hull of the cruiser, and then flipping her end over end, before her feet smashed down heavily into the air lock, landing in a mass effect field. She didn't falter though, or fall to her knees, and instead snapped what was obviously a salute at Corinthus.

"Permission to join you in coming aboard the Talons?" she asked in a rather polite tone, her accent a bit odd as it came out of his omnitool and into his ear, but otherwise, she seemed the model of a military officer.

"I give you my permission to join my group," he said, returning the salute to her, in the turian fashion of hand over heart, and she nodded, waiting at the rear of the line, as everyone came on board and then the air locks shut behind them. Every pair of eyes was on the female alien, who stood slightly shorter than the average turian male, topping out at about five and a half feet tall. Almost everyone seemed to be trying to give her space though, like she was some massive giant they were afraid to get near.

"Can one of you escort me to Commander Kryik?" she asked as the airlock finished cycling, and everyone was allowed into the ship proper.

"The Commander was taken to the medbay to deal with an injury he received. That's two decks down from here. Commander Corinthus, you know where the quarters are?" asked the turian who had come from the main ship to get him. Corinthus nodded at the question.

"You and your crew will be sharing block D. You may stow your gear in then report to Petty Officer Kree on the command deck for duty assignments," said the cadet, before motioning for the alien to follow him, guiding her to one of the lifts on the level, and then slowly lowering into the ground. Wishing her luck, as he always hated riding the slow things, he ordered his group to form up, and start walking to their new quarters.

OoOoO

"Sir, reporting with our emissary from the Terrans," said the cadet as he stopped in front of a bed. On it was a turian, like the others she'd been seeing since she'd joined that group coming aboard, he was stone like face. She could see now though, that it was more like scales than rough stone. Oddly, it had taken her some time to notice, but every one of them wore makeup. At first, she thought that might mean they were a crew of females, but after spying a few with smoother features, she decided they were the females of the species, and the face paint was probably just some cultural thing.

"Ah, hello. How was the trip over?" asked the one lying in the bed. His leg was bandaged up, with long strips of cloth wrapped around it, as he kept it over a bucket of some kind of glowing stuff. What it was she didn't know, but Shepard guessed it was some kind of healing gel.

"The trip was uneventful, luckily. Commander Hannah Shepard, First Officer, and First Contact Specialist of the Phoenix," she identified herself, saluting in the way she'd seen the turian do in the airlock. This gesture seemed to impress the one in front of her, his white face nodding, before he returned the gesture.

"Excellent. I am Commander Nihlus Kryik, current Captain of the Talons, until a full inquiry can be held," he responded, wincing a little as he tried to move a little, only to bump his foot against the side of the bucket it was in, causing a turian in white robes, either a priest or a medic, though she assumed the later, clicking her mandibles together in annoyance.

"I am to inform you that we are to make our way to the second planet of this system, which we've designated Shanxi. From there, we'll see what the politicians want, but we've already contacted them, and they're getting accommodations ready for five hundred of your people," she told him, and Commander Kyrik nodded thoughtfully, before motioning for her to sit down.

"You say that like it will take us some time to get to this world. Seeing how your weapons are different, I'm going to go out on a limb and say your drive is not quite as fast as ours," he told her, and seemed to nod thoughtfully herself.

"For us, the trip is two weeks. It took us as long to make it here to the Sling-er, Mass Relay. We hope this will give us time to talk, and more importantly, time for the politicians to make up their minds," she told him, and that seemed to get a chuckle from the officer in front of her, showing that political red tape was probably a universal concept.

"Still faster than the Hierarchy. In the meantime, do you have the supplies you'll need?" asked the turian.

"I have enough to last the trip, and if I need more, I can ask the Phoenix to send some over," she told him.

"Good, good. Is there anything we can do for you then? Your people have been very accommodating of us, considering the captain's actions, and I would hate to seem like a bad host," this was said with a smirk, and Shepard, despite herself, grinned in return.

"All I need is a bunk, and some history tapes. I want to learn everything I can about your people, before we land on Shanxi," she said this in a serious tone, the grin vanishing, and Kryik nodded again. That sounded like a good idea, maybe a way to avoid the misunderstandings that had led to his formation save the command ship being disabled. He seemed to be deep in thought for a few minutes, before suddenly sitting up, and pointing at a turian standing by the medbay entrance.

"Vakarian, you're applying for a position in C-Sec, right?" asked the commander, and the turian seemed to be a bit caught off guard, but responded after only a moment's thought.

"As soon as this tour was complete, sir," answered the turian, and the commander pointed at him.

"Alright, Lieutenant Vakarian, I appoint you Commander Shepard's personal history envoy. C-Sec Citadel Security. It's the center of galactic society, and so they're run through a crash course on history. If anyone in the crew can answer your questions, it'll be him," explained Kryik, and if she didn't know any better, Shepard would have sworn she saw Vakarian blush, but he recovered so quickly, she might have imagined it, as he stepped forward, and gave his commander a salute.

"I won't let you down, sir. Should I take her back to my bunk then?" he asked, and Kryik just snorted out a laugh at him.

"No, no, this is an emissary of a foreign government. You'll be taking the state quarters on level 2," he informed Vakarian, who's eyes bulged out a little.

"Sir, those are the Captain's quarters," he protested, and that only seemed to make Kryik smirk again.

"And he won't be needing them for this trip. Now, go get your gear and put it in your new quarters. Cadet?" this last was directed at the one who'd brought Shepard to the medbay in the first place.

"Sir?" he asked.

"Please escort Command Shepard to her bunk for the trip," the order given, the cadet saluted again, and motioned for Shepard to follow. Giving a Terran salute, with the hand just above the eyes, Shepard turned on a heel and followed, trying not to mentally gripe as she got in the left again, and it slowly made its way to another deck.

OoOoO

A few minutes later, Shepard was settling into her new quarters. Normally, all she'd find in such a thing was just a couch or chair, and a monitor or two. Here, there was a large bed in one corner, though it took her a minute to recognize it as such. Her body seemed to realize what it was right away of course, but she resisted the urge to lay down in it, setting her pack in one corner, and slipping out a small can from it.

Pushing a button, the can dispensed a small, glowing purple stick, that she quickly set into her mouth, making a face at the bitter taste before swallowing it down. Patting her stomach, which gurgled at her in protest of the odd food stuff, she set the can back into her pack, and then made her way to the couch, sitting down and waiting. Luckily, Vakarian didn't take long to arrive, a pack over his own arm which he set in the corner opposite hers, before taking a seat in a desk chair.

"So, Hannah Shepard is your name?" asked the turian, and she nodded.

"My name's Vakarian, Arus Vakarian. I'm a lieutenant in the Hierarchy military and...uh, is there anything you want to now?" he asked, his hand going up to scratch the back of his head in an almost universal sign that showed he didn't know what to say. The blue haired Terran actually found the action endearing, as she chuckled at him, and then leaned forward in her seat.

"As I said, I want to know history, so why don't we start at the earliest event you know, and then work our way forward," she offered, and he nodded, clicking his mandibles together, before starting.

"Alright. Almost three thousand years ago, the asari, a race of blue aliens that look like you, found a place called the Citadel..."

OoOoO

(Author's Notes:

If you want a better description of the Terran Frigate, just do a google search for Zentraedi Scout Ship the first image is an image of the ship. Also, yes, for those who recognize it, Shepard is wearing the uniform of a command officer from Star Trek: Enterprise. I decided to run with that theme. No, this is not a star trek cross over as well, I just liked the reference.)


	6. Decisions

As Shepard and Vakarian continued to swap stories about their peoples, from the Robotech Wars, to Krogan Rebellions, the galaxy beyond moved on. In the Citadel, the Council continued to meet with the batarian embassy, trying to force them to cease their attempts to annex the Skyllian Verge, while offering small compensations in trade for their cooperation. The ambassador, of course, agreed to consider their proposal, while thinking of how best to turn the deal to his personal advantage.

Deep in the Verge, a fleet of ships surrounding a dreadnaught hung in the sky over a beautiful world. At the helm of it stood a general, looking at the reports streaming into his stations. Five and a half dozen formation were now launched and out amid the Local Cluster and the Verge, and he was trying to keep track of them all, to make sure nothing escaped his eye. That would have been easier had one Lieutenant not misplaced a report, which talked of a patrol not reporting in at scheduled check in, so the general knew nothing of the lost formation.

Far away from the events of the galactic stage, in a small system near the galactic rim, there were other meetings. These were of a more frantic nature than those of the Council or the general. Arguments flared up, as politicians, military minds, and even science advisers nearly came to blows. All across the Sol System, people were hearing the news, a new race, encountered near Shanxi. Information beyond that was tightly controlled though, and most, despite the arguments, were merely waiting to hear what came next.

At the edge of the Sol System, inside the former dwarf planet Pluto, now Gloval Station, the Federation Senate was hard at work, going over every byte of data they had. For many, this was the most work they had ever had to put in as representatives of their various political groups. Shouting over each other to be heard, they demanded further answers, or demanded war with the turians over them taking a pot shot at one of their own, and in the cacophony nothing was really being decided.

Deeper still inside the station, in a room that was sealed off to all save a few, five being met. The Conclave, the leaders of the Federation, and the ones who would have the toughest decisions to make. Each member knew that what they decided here would literally change the course of history, and alter how the rest of the galaxy saw them, so they sat ruminating on their own points of view, going over the various reports and data feeds they had regarding this First Contact with life in the Milky Way.

They sat at a circular table, with each one being able to look their fellows in the eye. At one seat was Amanda Hayes, a woman who, despite her size, was one of those with the most human DNA, only her great grandfather being a Zentraedi. Her title was Representative, and she was supposedly the Senate's will on the council, though she thought of herself as more than that, and always approached problems with the utmost caution. Now nervous, but not afraid, she fondled a bit of her long, brown hair, while looking around the table with her emerald green eyes.

To her left was a true Terran, a man with an almost equal mixture of both Zen and Human blood in him. His hair white and his skin a pale purple, where those around him were white, brown, and blue. Alexander Grant by name, this man, represented the union of the two species, and was the Administrator of Gloval Station. His word here, in this great place, the largest facility ever constructed, was nearly law. He was seen as a fair man though, if a bit focused on music sometimes, and never acted rashly.

To the left of him sat a much more grim faced man. Blue skin and black hair were supplemented by silver metal covering half his face, and a green eye that had replaced his organic one. He rarely noticed this anymore, after all, the injury itself was almost two millennia old. He was a pure Zentraedi, one of six remianing among the Terrans, all six being command Zentraedi, designed so they didn't truly age, but merely grew wiser. His name was Breetai, and we was the Supreme Commander of the Federation Fleets.

To his left was another pure Zentraedi, just as old, and a friend to Breetai for many years. Prime Thinker Exedore, with brown skin, red hair, and a short disposition. Standing at only forty five feet in height, compared to the Terran standard sixty feet, he was far smaller of stature, but two thousand years had led him to become one of the sharpest minds in the Federation. Respected among almost all communities, for both his science and his diplomacy, he was content with his lot, and actually smiled at his companions.

To his left, completing the circle, was the oddest member of the group. Called Terran, but lacking blood, he was an AI. Calling himself Collective Amalgam, he represented the wills of all the AI's in the Federation, regularly sampling the mental states of his peers. Still, despite knowing what his kind thought whenever they wanted him to know it, he was an independent entity, his chair a large monitor on which he displayed an image of a wireframe man, sitting down as the others were.

Thus was the circle, Representative Hayes, Administrator Grant, Supreme Commander Breetai, Prime Thinker Exedore, and Collective Amalgam. These were the leaders of the Federation, their words would echo across all the stars the Terran masses controlled, and today, they faced one of the hardest moments of their history, and everyone at the table knew, if they made a wrong move, it could forever damage their people. So they sat there, waiting as Amalgam swept the room for bugs, waiting to voice their thoughts.

"There are no listening devices in the room that the sensors can detect," said the AI at last, facing his peers, as they all let out a nervous breath they'd been unconsciously holding.

"That won't last forever here, so I suggest we just drop all pretense and lay our thoughts on the table as they are now," suggested Hayes as she ran her fingers through her hair, straightening it, as the others nodded.

"I say we send the SDF-3 to their homeworld. Their first action was an unwarranted attack on a vessel that they hadn't even known the intentions of. That sort of people only understand force," said Grant, pushing a button to bring up a galaxy map on the surface of the table. A single star shone on it, Palavan's primary of Trebia, according to the data the AI T'Pol had provided in her transmission.

"I would propose a more cautious approach. We have the advantage of time at the moment, and it wouldn't do to leap into a battle that would waste lives. I feel an embassy in an ambassadorial ship, sent to this, Citadel, to meet with the Council would be the best approach," said Exedore, and a button push from him brought up another space, this time a massive nebula, focusing on a single star in it that contained the massive structure as the turian computer had pictured it.

"Normally, I would agree with Grant. The sort of military who's allowed to use a shoot first, ask questions later, policy is one that lacks proper oversight from its government. Still, I will throw my vote behind Exedore's plan first. Our fleets can evacuate our colonies in only a fortnight, and it is doubtful that these turians have the might to withstand the power of Gloval Station," said the blue skinned man, nodding at his friend. The others at the table seemed a little surprised at the military man's agreement with him, considering they often had heated arguments regarding proper expansions of both population and science, but Amalgam quickly took his own turn to speak.

"Given that, I will say, my own thoughts align more with Grant's. These people, their history is a long police action over the 'lesser' races of this galaxy, and includes many laws that literally ban artificial life. While I haven't gone over every byte of data yet, their history, both ancient and recent, suggests they will brook no dissent on what they deem right. I therefore must suggest a show of force to demonstrate we are not to be trifled with," said the AI, and everyone turned to stare at him.

"Really, AIs are illegal?" asked Exedore, pulling up some of the data they'd been sent. Amalgam was able to quickly turn the data to the relevant passages, and waited as they all read through it.

"Would they really go so far?" asked Representative Hayes looking through some of the punishments for AI development, including things that would have an effect on an entire culture, for something that could be started by only a few.

"They have already done so, given their treatment of another race, these quarians, and they've literally got a shoot on sight order for any ship of the geth they find," said Amalgam simply, turning their displays again, so they could see the orders plain as day.

"That is most disturbing. Currently almost a twentieth of Federation citizens are AIs, and that's not even considering how much industry depends on your people," said Grant, thinking about his job, and how much harder it would becoming running a station the size of a dwarf planet without the assistance of intelligent computers.

"And yet, we do not know how they would react to a culture that already has such citizens in its ranks. I say a peaceful approach would be best, approach them as brothers, and perhaps we will find them more accepting than the records on a military ship would imply," added Exedore, and every eye and sensor turned to Hayes, as she read over the section before her, including a rather thorough description of what was to be done with any geth found outside their home.

"As the deciding vote for this. I say we split the difference. We want to show military force, let us send a cruiser with the turian prisoners on board to the Citadel. Fly the flag, and tell them we will not be bullied. If they insist on a confrontation, it wouldn't take long to Fold in the New Macross, and show them the folly of a war with us," she said, and all three of the men in the room nodded. A cruiser, over a mile in length, was a match for mass with most of the turians' known dreadnaughts designs. It would also be able to provide a direct Fold beacon for the SDF-3 if worst came to worst, and the ensuing gunship rescue would be more than enough to show their might.

"That sounds reasonable. I would, of course, like to send a more peaceful vessel, but if Amalgam is correct, we will need to protect our non-biological citizens from their bigotry," said Breetai, already going over in his head which ship would be appropriate to send.

"Hmm, this information on the treatment of AIs does indeed change many of my own plans. Still, a bit of saber rattling shouldn't provoke them too hard. I should like to accompany the ship personally however. This new technology sounds positively fascinating," said Exedore, pushing a few keys to bring up some of the schematics they'd been able to uncover, including for a so called mass effect engine, something that would improve the speed of a ship in real space by more than an order of magnitude.

"I would feel better sending a command ship, but a cruiser would be less intimidating. I agree to this plan," said Grant after a few chin stroking motions.

"This would satisfy my concerns, as long as the diplomat in charge is aware of the position of the AIs," added Amalgam.

"Indeed, if this is to work, we must send a diplomat capable of bargaining in full confidence with them. It wouldn't do to send someone who could be unduly influenced," said Breetai, and Hayes nodded beside him.

"As that is the case, I propose myself for the position. As Representative of the Senate, I could deal in full confidence with them, and as a member of the Conclave I have the authority to make treaties. Hopefully, if I make them aware of that, and the fact that I could call in the big guns, they'll be less likely to try any strong arm tactics," said the woman, and all three men and the AI looked at her for a moment, before solemnly nodding their heads. It wouldn't due to send a low level bureaucrat with no authority, and while Representative Hayes was a valuable chip to just hand an enemy, if worst came to worst, she would have the backing of an SDF at a moment's notice.

"So, a cruiser, with two members of the Conclave aboard, but with the SDF-3 waiting to swoop in if things become dicey. Is this plan approved? Vote," said Amalgam, and the desk in front of him glowed green a second later, showing his consent to the plan. The others on the Conclave all reached forward, and soon, the entire table top was shaded in the same color.

"Motion passes. Breetai, if you would provide us with a cruiser, we'll need to leave right away to Shanxi. If we can, I would like to get those turians off world the day after they arrive, to avoid any unfortunate accidents," as she said this, all three men at the table looked down at their heavy boots, and nodded, knowing exactly what she meant. A few minutes later, they all left, Exedore and Hayes to prepare for a trip, Grant and Amalgam to the station's Command and Control Center to continue their duty of running it, and Breetai to contact a cruiser for transport.

OoOoO

"Captain Sheridan, you have a message from Gloval Station," said a voice in the dark, and suddenly a man in uniform hopped up, his hand going to his belt and the shiny bit of silver he kept there. He let his hand drop as he realized where the speaking voice was coming from. Blinking a little, the man went over to the wall and pushed a button to turn the lights on in his relaxation chamber, before going to the monitor. On it was displayed the face of one of the ships many lieutenants.

"Anyone important?" asked Sheridan as he tried to clear the fog from his head, meditation was supposed to be a good way of keeping your mind sharp, and Sheridan liked the idea of it, even if he sometimes found it hard to focus coming out of it.

"Supreme Command Breetai," said the lieutenant in the same way you might say the name of one of those pompous wind bag senators.

"Patch him in right away then," said Sheridan as he straightened his uniform, wondering what the master of the Terran Military would want with him. Luckily, it took a few seconds for the blue skinned man's face to resolve on his monitor, and by the time he was staring into that green electronic eye, he looked at least somewhat presentable.

"This is Captain Tron Sheridan of the Agamemnon, how may I be of service today?" asked Sheridan as he snapped off a salute to the man in the monitor. Breetai returned the salute in a quick fashion, and the captain went to a rest pose as he waited for orders.

"As time is moving quicker than I'd like, I'll get right to the point. Are you aware of what's been happening around the Shanxi colony?" asked the Supreme Commander, and Sheridan had to think for a few moments, before shaking his head.

"I'm afraid the news we've been getting has been rather oblique sir. Something is happening there, I'm aware of that, but the details are rather sketchy," he admitted, and Breetai nodded at him, stroking his chin.

"Indeed. Then I shall be brief. The Frigate, Phoenix, while reactivating the Sling Shot discovered in the system a few weeks ago, made first contact with a micronian race called the turians," Sheridan, a trained captain in the Terran military, was still unable to hide a look of surprise as it crossed his face for a moment at the announcement. After all, they'd been hoping to run into someone out in the Milky Way for almost a decade now.

"Are they the ones who built the Slings?" asked Sheridan after a moment, wondering if he was being deployed for battle against those people, who's devices were said to have more power in them than the entire Terrana fleet.

"Negative. They're simply a race that makes use of them," he said, and Sheridan didn't even try to hide the relief on his face at that news.

"However, there was an altercation and the turians are now on their way to Shanxi with the Phoenix, they'll arrive in a few days. By the time they're there, I want you and your ship, along with a diplomatic embassy on site. From there, you'll be launching to a station called the Citadel. I trust you'll be discreet on the mission, without antagonizing the aliens," said Beertai, a simple statement of fact.

"I'll be sure to walk softly around the little people, Supreme Commander," acknowledged Sheridan.

"Good, come to dock with Gloval Station to pick up the embassy, and then set out as soon as you can," and with those words, Beertai cut the transmission, leaving the monitor dark for a moment, before the symbol of the Federation, a picture of Earth, started to spin in the monitor. Quickly, Sheridan went over a mental list of what he was going to have to do, while exiting the relaxation chamber, and heading off to the bridge to inform his crew their simply patrol mission was about to becoming something a lot more important.

(Author's Note:

While researching for this chapter, it was brought to my attention that Exedore's height is listed officially as 46 feet. That's relatively tall, of course, but it comes with an oddity of him being only about three quarters the height of a regular Zentraedi, especially when compared to Breetai, who's height is officially 13.54 meters, which comes out to only 45 feet. As such, average height for the Terrans, and Breetai's own height is changed to around 60 feet for this story. For anyone curious, the reason for the difference is of course, Robotech is kind of cobbled together, and so different media(Comics, Anime, and Novels), all list some different stats.


	7. A Difference of Scale

"And then he slipped and fell into the ravine, getting mud all over his clothes," said Hannah, and Arus started laughing again, slapping at his knee as the two of them shared a drink of water and swapped stories. Twelve days had passed as the ship made its way slowly through the system, and they had long since run out of historic topics to talk about, with Vakarian learning about the Robotech Wars and the M51 Galaxy, while Shepard learned of the Rachni War, the Krogan Rebellions, and just about every other major event in the last three thousand years of galactic history.

"Oh my, your son must have hated that," responded Arus and Shepard just nodded in response, before they both leaned back in their chairs and sighed a bit.

"Ah, children, the greatest joy a parent can have, right?" asked Hannah as she sipped at her water, and Arus nodded.

"I wouldn't trade Garrus and Solana for anything," he admitted, and they sat there in silence for a long moment, mentally enjoying that glow that came from thinking of one's family. When Arus was just about to ask a question regarding Hannah's again, he was interrupted by a loud beeping sound on his wrist. With a flicking motion, a small control board appeared above his hand, and he pressed a few buttons to cause a wall display to turn on, revealing the face of Command Kryik.

"Hmm, it seems you two are doing well," commented the turian in charge, and Arus smiled at him, giving him a quick salute as he rose to his feet, one mirrored by Hannah as she set her water bottle aside and did the same.

"It's been a productive time, Commander. I would gather though, our time is at an end," said Lieutenant Vakarian, causing Nihlus to nod in response.

"We'll be landing on Shanxi in a few minutes, and I would like Mrs. Shepard to come to the bridge, if it wouldn't be too much trouble," said the commander, before the holo folded in on itself and vanished. Looking at that wall for a moment, Shepard sighed and pulled at her clothing, trying to get a few wrinkles out of it as she made her way to the door.

"Well, we both knew this was going to be temporary, but I want to thank you, while we have this moment. You've been very helpful learning about galactic history," she said, offering Arus her hand. The turian, after a moment's hesitation, took the offered appendage and shook it, in the way she'd showed him that first day, before gathering up his own things.

"Not like you didn't give as good as you got. I'm sure I'm going to be in for a long debriefing because of this time with you. Mind, this probably also made my career," he noted as he slung a pack across his back, Shepard doing the same, and then marching out of the quarters to find an honor guard of turians waiting for them. Smiling, in a non-threatening way, Shepard motioned towards the nearby lift, and only looked a little apprehensive as the thing made its way, slowly, downwards to the command level.

After what felt like hours, mostly thanks to the elevator, the group arrived on the bridge to find it a bustle of activity. At every station there seemed to be a commander watching over the shoulder of the junior officers, usually offering some suggestion or another that the younger turians were far to disciplined to tell their superiors were just common sense. Worse of course, were the group of three of them standing at the back, over the main holodisplay, which currently showed a picture of the planet, and two scaled up versions of the ships so they could be seen orbiting it.

"Ah, Shepard, there you are," said Kryik as he stepped away from his two fellows, and gestured for her to join him at the viewing area above the main display.

"Indeed. I see we're here," she commented, looking down at the display.

"Yes, though we've found something odd in orbit. You said this was an agricultural colony, mostly farming, with only your own frigate as a defender. Yet there appears to be something rather a bit larger hanging in the skies," pushing a few buttons, the model of the planet grew closer, before focusing in on a vessel.

It looked odd to the turians. Once again, it lacked the straight lines of the warships they were used to, instead having smooth curves for edges. The design itself was odd as well, larger than the Phoenix, about on par with an average dreadnaught, and with many small protrusions on it that Shepard had identified as either reflex weapons or missile turrets. The overall shape was of a long shaft sticking out of a wide rear section, which had several engines on the rear. The oddest thing of all though was it's location. Where they knew mass like that had to be kept in space, since it was difficult at best to launch it from a planet, this this was hanging on about a mile off the planet's surface, far deeper than anything that size should have been able to go.

"That's a cruiser, probably for the politicians come to meet us here," she said, moving her hand over the control, and zooming in on a small section on the front of the hull.

"Not a number I recognize,however," she admitted, before pointing to what was obviously writing, though it wasn't in a script the turians knew of course, and was hard to read anyway due to the holo displaying it as just orange without the coloring.

"Can you open a communication line with the Phoenix?" she asked at last, and Kryik nodded towards one of the waiting cadets, who quickly brought up the flat screen hologram display that then showed the face of Captain Archer.

"Ah, Shepard, was wondering when you'd get around to talking to us again," said the captain.

"Eh, any time away from your ugly mug is good time," she said, causing the captain to chuckle as he pushed a few buttons in front of him.

"Yeah, yeah. Okay, Shanxi control says you guys can set down in a landing facility they set up for you on the north side of the colony. It's already got a crowd of soldiers around it," said the captain, who's face slid over as the planetary map grew next to it. Slowly the map zoomed in on the colony, and then began to crisscross it, before finally focusing on a large structure surrounded by armored forms.

"I think this is it, Sir. There appears to be several of those robotic forms around it, like the one that was repairing the relay, but smaller," said a nearby cadet, and Shepard smirked a little. She'd realized, halfway to Shanxi that none of the turians had any idea how large Terrans were normally. Rather than let that fact slip, she kept it to herself, figuring it would be good for a laugh right about now.

"If it's got about fifty guys around it, that's the one. Just set her down there, from what I've been told, Representative Hayes is waiting for you went you land," said Archer, before flicking his screen off, causing the square where his head had been to go blank. Either he wanted to see the faces of the turians too, or he just wasn't paying attention, which suited Shepard find as she felt the ship enter into the gravity well of the planet.

Oddly, the trip down was smoother than she was used to. Sure, antigrav boosters and the like allowed for Terran ships to hang in an atmosphere, but the act of moving tons of air out of the way tended to result in a rather bumpy ride, not to mention Terrans usually turned off the ships gravity when diving, which meant a longer spiral path down. The turian design apparently didn't need it, the ship slipping through the sky like the arrowhead it resembled, closing in on the colony in a maneuver that should have taken at least half an hour in less than five minutes.

The landing left a bit to be desired in and of itself, but that probably had more to do with the landing facility itself. The people of Shanxi, upon hearing about the visitors coming, had done their best to follow the instructions on how to build the place, but having less than two weeks to slap it together from farm parts had resulted in structure that, while it was large enough, wasn't shaped entirely right, causing the ship to shudder to a halt, rather then gently glide to one, as the outer right thruster scrapped against a bit of scaffolding.

Luckily, other than the scratch, the landing was handled without much of a problem. Commander Kryik was quick to congratulate his crew, before turning to Shepard and offering to lead her from the bridge to, rather than a lift, a small door in the side of the ship. She then got to wait as the ship's onboard computer, a VI she'd been informed, scanned the local air, and finally declared it good enough for the turians to breathe, opening it so the commander, a squad of a dozen turian soldiers, as well as Shepard and Vakarian, finally stepped out into the fresh air.

"Hmm, a bit slapdash, but considering the speed it was built at, I can't complain about the results," said Nihlus as he looked at the walkway in front of them. It was obviously a rush job, and while they didn't see it, Shepard could spot several stress marks on the metal of the thing from where someone had grabbed onto it, probably while hanging off something to shore up a seem with a power tool or the like. She said nothing though, waiting as a ramp slid out of the turian ship, clanging metallically against he walkway, and then proceeded to follow the turians, walking down several flights of steps, and finally outside.

"Hello, allow me to be the first to welcome you to Shanxi," said a woman stepping forward. She was alone at the moment, and standing the same height as the turians, which struck Shepard as odd, but then suddenly recognized her face. While not as important as Breetai(In Shepard's opinion at least), the Senate Representative was still one of the leaders of the Federation, and so she quickly snapped a salute as she and the turian party came up to the woman.

"Representative Hayes, I'm Commander Shepard, and I have the honor to introduce you to Commander Nihlus Kryik, Lieutenant Arus Vakarian, and their contingent of guards to make sure we don't try to kill them," said Shepard, pointing to the ones she was speaking of, before just jerking her thumb back and the armored turians. Hayes seemed taken aback a bit by the rather blunt statement, but recovered quickly, bowing her head a little to each in turn.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Commander Kryik. From what I've been told you're in charge of this unit?" she asked, and the man nodded.

"I have seniority on Talons, and while there are actually two captains aboard as well now, I'm considered in charge until we return to Council space and a formal hearing can be held in regards to Captain Arterius' actions," he explained.

"Excellent, I have a few things I'd like to discuss with you regarding our interactions, if you'll be so kind as to follow me," she turned, and started to walk away, between the two rows of armored Terrans. The turians followed, the soldiers taking up defensive positions around their leaders, some going so far as to draw weapons, while one started to glow with a weird aura around them. Noticing after a few feet, that she was getting far ahead of the party, Hayes turned around, and followed the gazes of the turians up and down the bodies of the Terrans.

"Impressive, aren't they?" she asked as Kryik caught up, and the turian could only nod absently.

"They are that, but isn't it a little wasteful to meet us with these things? Wouldn't a detachment of guards have been sufficient?" he asks of her, turning. At first, he thought this might have been some kind of insult, as her expression seemed rather odd. He was about to turn to Vakarian and ask if he knew what it meant, and how he should apologize, when an almost universal sound came from the translator, laughter, and she nearly doubled over with it, while beside the turians, Shepard got a smirk on her lips.

"Did I say something amusing?" asked Kryik as Hayes slowly began to recover herself, and she nodded at him, before facing towards Shepard.

"You didn't tell them, did you?" asked the brown haired female of the blue haired one, and Shepard shook her head, still having that smirk on her face.

"I didn't want to spoil the surprise," she explained, and Hayes seemed to accept this, before turning towards one of the large things. It stood almost seventy feet tall, and was, like the ships of the Terrans, smooth all over. No rough edges, no broken seems. Heck, even the head of the unit looked like a bullet shape, with only a small seem between it and the body to allow for movement. Walking up towards the thing, Hayes motioned for it to lean down, the thing doing so, getting on one knee and facing her.

"Yes ma'am?" it asked, in a resounding, echoy voice that came from the volume of the speaker the unit was using being just a little too loud.

"Um, yes...Sergeant, could you do me a favor and remove your helmet?" she asked, seeing the rank insignia on his shoulder. The Terran seemed to take a moment to consider this, while below him, the turians were wondering what she was talking about. Helmet? Of course, they got their answer as soon as he decided to follow the order, his hands reaching up, and with a twist, and a hiss of air, he lifted the bullet shaped head cover off, revealing the man beneath.

He looked average, to most Terrans. His skin was an off color shade of purple, and his hair a deep green, showing the Zentraedi side of his heritage, while the softer features, and brighter eyes hinted at the human side. Outside of the armor, which added a good ten feet to his height, he was the average Terran size of sixty feet, his helmet taking up almost ten of those. Shaking his head a little, letting his hair fly free in the air around him, he set the helmet down, seemingly just to make the turians feel even smaller, as they stared up at him.

"This, my friends, is what a Terran looks like normally. Myself and Mrs. Shepard are, by choice, a bit smaller right now to interact with you on your level, but make no mistake, when we're done with our business, we'll rejoin our brethren up there," of course, Hayes might as well have been talking to a brick wall, as the turians just stared at the giant around them, some turning to eye the other giants, all of whom were now looking down at them with those huge faces.

"Thank you Sergeant, you may put your helmet back on," she instructed, and the Sergeant did so, rising, his boot making a dull thud that sent a small tremor through the ground as he stamped back into place. This shock seemed to wake the turians back up, and within seconds, the guards were back in their formation, eying the giants, and their huge footwear a bit more wearily, but never faltering in their stride as they walked forward, Shepard had to give them that.

"You wanted to see how they'd react without any warning," said Hayes quietly as Shepard walked up to her, and Hannah didn't deny the accusation.

"That could have caused an incident, you know," stated Hayes directly, and Shepard just shook her head.

"I knew they'd handle the shock fairly well, and worst came to worst, they don't really have any punch to those weapons of theirs. The slugs are too small to do more than sting a bit, even if the guards weren't wearing armor," responded Shepard.

"That's not the point. This is a delicate situation. I won't fault you for it, this time, but when we leave for the Citadel, I expect you to behave as befitting an officer," she told Shepard, which got the commander to look at her.

"Go with you? I thought my role was done," said the woman, looking around the colony. They were nearing the end of the row of guards, approaching a pair of small transports which, before being modified for micronians, had been carts one would use to haul equipment around on.

"You've got the most experience of any officer in regards to their people right now, which, if you avoid pulling anything funny, could help iron over some rough patches between us and them," explained Hayes, and Shepard looked about to protest, when she held up a hand to silence her.

"No, you don't get to protest this assignment. I've already cleared it with Breetai, the Phoenix and her crew will be joining the Agamemnon's battle group for now. We'll keep the SDF 3 and 4 on standby, just in case we need them, and they'll be ready to Fold either here, or to the Citadel," she explained, and Shepard's protests fell away. With that kind of firepower, there wouldn't be anything to worry about, at least for the moment.

"Permission to see my family then, before I have to go?" requested Shepard, and Hayes' expression softened into a friendly smile at the simple question.

"That I can, and have done. The second transport will take you to your home," she said, waving her hand towards the modified cart in the rear.

"Permission to take Lieutenant Vakarian with me in the name of fostering relations, ma'am?" asked the Commander after a moment of thought, and Hayes looked from her, to the turian party, all of whom had been ignoring the shorter Terrans in favor of the larger versions around them.

"So long as he doesn't get hurt, it'll be fine, but remember kids can be a handful around tiny things, and I hear your son's only eight," said Hayes, and Shepard brushed her off.

"He's also one of the sweetest boys on the planet. He's got a pet deer he takes good care of," she said, before stopping, and allowing the slower moving turian part of their party catch up, matching their stride easily.

"You could have warned us about this little fact before we landed," protested Commander Kryik as he came up beside her, and Shepard got a smirk on her face again to match the one from before.

"I could have, but it was much more fun to leave that rather large fact out of sight until it was staring down at you," she told him, and he hrumphed, though, having lived among the turians for two weeks, she could see that slight incline to his mandibles. He'd apparently thought it was a good joke too.

"Now that we've got that out of the way, I did want to ask if Lieutenant Vakarian would like to accompany me in visiting my family while he's here. They're just a few blocks away, and I don't think either he or I could contribute much to any political discussion," she asked this, and the turian beside her wanted to laugh about it, but instead he waved his hand dismissively, trying to appear implacable for his men, while always turning one eye towards the giants around him, wondering just how much damage through could do.

"Excellent. So, Arus, want to go see my family?" she asked, turning to the lieutenant, who, upon hearing his name, finally stopped staring upwards at the sight of the giants, and turned to face her.

"What was that?" he asked, and Nihlus chuckled to himself.

"She said, you've been invited to her home, and as your commanding officer, I say, take the invitation. This would be a good opportunity to learn about how Terran youth interact with those of us who can't cause low level quakes," ordered Commander Kryik, and Arus nodded absently, looking up at the soldiers again, but then shaking his head. Shepard had been friendly for all the time he'd known her, there was no way she'd let him get hurt...he thought so anyone.

"I'd love to meet your family, Hannah," he said at last, and thus, as the groups finally got to the two transports, he entered the rear one with Shepard, while Hayes and the other turians got in the front one.

"We're going to Governor William's residence, whenever you're done, Commander Shepard!" shouted Hayes as their transport began to move away, using the most efficient motor possible, one of the guards pushing it, while being surrounded by eight of the remaining ones. The last guard pushed the cart that Vakarian and Shepard got into, turning them down a side street towards Shepard's home, where, after over a month gone, she'd finally get to see her family again, and introduce them to a new friend.

(Author's Note:

Cheating again, if you want a good view of the Cruiser, just google Zentradi Command Ship, as with the Scout, it's the first result)


	8. Shepard Homestead

The crash of metal against metal echoed over the area. The sound, like two ships colliding at sea, was near deafening, and the sparks that flew from the contest of strength looked like someone was trying to weld something. The crash was followed by a scraping sound, as the long length of metal was pulled against the edge of its opposite, sliding across it to keep the second weapon in its place as the first wielder used the leverage to push herself backwards, landing a few dozen yards away, her feet landing heavily on the ground.

The larger opponent facing her gave the girl no quarter, the instant she danced away, he advanced, his weapon, a blade almost as long as he was tall, flashing in the afternoon sunlight as he slashed out with it. The girl's blade, smaller, though not by much, came up with a frightening speed, seeming to just teleport into the positions she needed. She caught the first slash with the side of her blade, angled so the force of the impact was slid across the length of the blade, before she spun on her heel, putting as much force as she could behind a counter stroke.

The man she was fighting leapt backwards, his body just getting away from the blade's tip as he retreated, and then he'd his sword to his side as he studied her stance. The girl could have pressed her attack, but was just aware enough to put a bit of distance between her and him, side stepping an outside who had come to watch their duel, and the cart he was pushing. The man, in full armor so obviously a soldier, backed away from the fight as he realized he had gotten too close, and instead stopped over a hundred yards away, giving the two combatants ample room with which to maneuver.

They took full advantage of it too, the girl suddenly circling around her foe, using her greater agility to her advantage to get inside his guard, as he was only just able to move his blade to intercept hers. When the two weapons clashed now, it was different though, the man held his blade almost perpendicular to his opponents, causing the girl's blade to slam hard into his, and stop. This startled the girl, as she had been expecting something else, and while her mind, in that half second pause, considered what this meant, the man acted.

His blade was held in one hand, but with the other, he reached down, dive rolling forward, and causing the girl to tumble a little, all of her weight having been leaning against his blade. Then, before she could react, he grabbed her ankle, pulling on it, and causing her already overbalanced stance to collapse, her sword tossed aside to avoid falling on it. The blade landed heavily on the churned up turf, striking the ground hard, and leaving an impression of itself in the earth. Before the girl could rise to continue the fight, the man, her opponent, held his blade at her throat, and the girl paused, to look up the length, and stare into his face.

"Now would be a good time to concede," he told her bluntly, and the girl just stared up at him, her green eyes burning with passion to continue the fight. She closed them, however, and after taking a deep breath, she nodded her consent, allowing the man to help her to her feet, where she began to dust herself off before going to retrieve her weapon.

On the cart, still hanging back as the two collected themselves, Arus Vakarian was speechless. He'd seen many of the Terrans in their trip across the colony, some of which turned from daily tasks to stare at the cart, while others ignored them as they went about their day. But they'd all seemed ponderous. Huge, imposing, and powerful, but ultimately slow. Then they'd come into sight of this place. The two combatants locked in a struggle dancing around each other. The speed with which they moved was astonishing, so much so that he expected to hear sonic booms coming from their weapons as they moved.

The duel had looked dangerous too, and for a moment, he wondered if it was too the death, but then it had ended peacefully, and he got to have a good look at the two. They wore clothing he would describe as a jumpsuit, if it were left to him. They appeared to be form fitting, with not a piece of angle that hung loose, and oddly white, which while it fit the female's skin tone, contrasted greatly with the male's, who's skin was a much darker shade of red instead. Also, as they rose, he noticed a height difference of about a dozen feet between them, though had they not been side by side, he doubted he would have done so.

"Heh, she's getting better," said Shepard as the girl and the man both held their weapons in front of them, and then did something that made the things seem to fall in on themselves. Arus was shocked as the blades, seemingly solid, especially considering all the punishment he'd just seen them take, proved to be hollow on the inside, plates of the blade slipping into place easily, before the two long arms of the crossguard folded up as well, and then slipped into the side of it, turning a rather large blade, into something that fit easily into a hand and then was placed on a belt.

"Thank you teacher, for the lesson," he heard the girl say, her voice having that odd, too loud echo effect like the sergeant from before. She then bowed at the older man, who returned it.

"You are welcome, my apprentice. Now, shall we see what this fellow has to tell us?" he said, and the girl turned, seemingly startled to see the soldier, despite having adapted to him during the fight. She then smiled, and nodded, walking to them with the man's arms at her side.

"Hello, what brings you to this home today, Corporal?" asked the man as they grew closer, and rather than respond to the question, he merely gestured towards the cart he'd been pushing, which the two looked down on, finding the shapes in the bottom moving as they got closer.

"That was quite good honey, but you know I told you last time you should keep your guard up, and only throw your all into an attack you expect to end the fight," admonished Shepard as she stepped off the cart onto the ground, looking up at the girl.

"Mom?" she said after a few seconds, a bit incredulous at the sight of her.

"Heh, that's Commander Shepard to you young lady. So, how goes the training?" she asked of the man above her, and he got a contemplative look on his face for a moment, before nodding.

"It goes quite well. The young Ms. Shepard is quickly mastering all I have to teach," he said, and the girl beamed with pride at her teacher's words, smiling up at him, and then down at her mother.

"So, who is this guest you've brought with you? I assume it's one of our visitors from the stars, a tur-something or other," he said, squatting down towards the tiny thing to get a better look. At the same time, Arus got a better look at him, his orange hair, like rust on his head, though cut so short that Arus had thought him bald at first.

"Turian, actually. Might I introduce you to Lieutenant Arus Vakarian, my bunkmate for the past two weeks, and a family man himself," as she said this, the girl got down on her knees, not squatting like the older man, and offered him her hand to shake, only to think better of it and instead hold out her pinkie, which he was only just able to get both his hands around, shaking it as politely as he could in a gesture Hannah had told him was of greeting, while staring into the deep green eyes of the girl, and the soft face framed by her red hair.

"Arus, this is my daughter, Jane, and her sword instructor, Evelyn Gordon," and the taller man nodded in greeting at the tiny thing.

"That's Flash to my friends. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lieutenant Vakarian," he said.

"And likewise, Mr. Gordon. That was certainly an impressive display before. Tell me, how do your swords do that?" asked Vakarian, and Gordon seemed puzzled for a moment, pulling the blade from his hip and holding the folded weapon in his hand.

"Do what exactly? Sing in the air? Dance on the winds?" he asked, flicking his wrist so the blade deployed, unfolding quickly. Plates of metal slammed into place, clicking like clockwork, with the crossguard, two outstretched arms, unfolding first, while the blade bloomed from between them, soon leaving the man with a sword at least as long as he was tall.

"That, the whole, folding, unfolding thing. It's a rather unique design," commented Vakarian, and the man shook his head standing up to his full height, and then lowering the blade so that the tip was right next to the turian.

"Oh, not so unique for a Terran. The sword is hollow on the inside, as you might have seen, and held together by some kind of cable inside. Not entirely sure I understand all the pieces myself, but then, I'm a blade wielder, not a smith or weapon designer," and with that, the man suddenly leapt away, landing heavily enough that the two tiny ones nearly fell of their feet. They kept their eyes on the man though, as he twirled the blade in his hand. The edge seemed to sing, as he said, the wind blowing from the thing, as it faded into a silver blur, before stopping, just an inch or so from Vakarians face. To his credit, the turian's only response to this, was to reach up and hover his hand over the weapon's edge, afraid to touch it.

"Brave for a micronian," commented Gordon, as he pulled the weapon back, and then brought it down to the ground so the turian could see the grip on the handle.

"The shape of the weapon is called a claymore, a common two handed blade back on Earth before the Robotech Wars. As for the folding thing, it's a bit of Praxian tech that the Zentraedi brought with them from the M51. It involves an inner layer of the blade coated with magnetic material, and a small rod core of the same," as he spoke, he did something to the sword's hilt, and the panels began to fold inward again, this time close enough that Arus could see the difference between the inside of the small panels, and the outside of them. Namely that while the outside had a silver sheen quality to it, the inside was a dull green color.

"In the hilt is a small magnet that sends a charge up through the rod in the middle. Twist to the left, it repels the plates, pushing them away. The blade becomes it's full length, the magnet and the design of the various pieces keeping it in place. Turn it back to the right, and it attracts the plates, causing them to collapse in on themselves, and then folding back into this shape," as he said that, the sword finally finished, and he moved his hand so the turian could get closer to the weapon.

The handle, hilt he supposed, was not quite as smooth as it seemed from a distance, with plenty of small bumps in it to provide traction for the wielder's hand. Even folded up though, it was still over a foot taller than Arus himself, and while he was watching, the thing was slowly starting to sink into the ground via sheer mass. Showing a bit more bravery than he would admit, Arus walked straight up the the thing and put his hand on it, feeling the slightly warm metal beneath his palm, before stepping away, and allowing Gordon to clip it to his belt again.

"A very interesting weapon indeed. Though quite heavy," he commented, and Gordon nodded.

"A bit, yes. My blades one of the lighter models, only a few dozen tons. The military tends towards the heavy weapons though. Miss Shepard here already uses a sword of one hundred ton weight, and hopes to be up to half again that when she joins in a few years," said the man, gesturing to his student, who blushed and tried to look away.

"One hundred...tons?" said the turian as he went over that in his own mind. He'd piloted small transports that didn't mass that much, and these people, these monsters, were able to swing that sort of weight around with speed like that?

"How does the blade not collapse in on itself with that sort of weight?" he asked at last, and Gordon just shrugged down at him as he got back on his feet, and helped Jane to hers.

"I honestly couldn't tell you. I know how they work in general, but you'd have to ask a smith the details. Now, I only have a few hours of daylight left, and want to run through a few exercises with Ms. Shepard, if you'll excuse me," he bowed towards them, though it seemed more like he was blocking the sky overhead, before he started back towards the ground they'd been training on, quickly whipping out his blade with a lightning fast wrist flick, a motion Jane Shepard mimed, and then charged at him again, the sound of crashing vehicles coming from them, as they both got back in the cart, the Corporal pushing them towards the front door, and then pushing a button nearby.

"Yes?" came a voice from a speaker above them.

"Corporal Warren Keffer, of the Agamemnon. I'm here to escort your wife and her visitor," said one pushing the cart, and one could hear a result of noise from the speaker before it cut off with a click. For several seconds there was nothing but silence, before the door in front of them opened, rather dramatically, and a man was standing there, looking first towards the Corporal, then at the cart he was pushing.

From the vantage point, Arus could tell this man was different than most of the Terrans he'd met so far. He didn't wear a uniform like Shepard did, or the suits the two sword wielders nearby were. He also didn't wear a work suit, like the Terrans they'd past on the way there, wearing what Shepard had identified as mostly blue jeans and t-shirts. No, this man was dressed similarly to Representative Hayes, a smooth set of clothing, two pieces, with a jacket up top, and pants down below. No seam or ripple other than his body blemished the clothes, which, unlike Hayes white ensemble with blue lining around the joints, was a dark shade of brown, with lighter brown lining.

"Honey?" he asked as he looked around, finally looking down, and squatting on his heels to stare into the bottom of the cart.

"Hello, Adam," said Mrs. Shepard as she stared up at her giant husband.

"Hello, Hannah," he said, smirking as he offered her a hand. She climbed on, motioning for Arus to follow her, and soon, all three of them were sitting at a table on which sat several books. Well, several was putting it lightly. In the turian's sight were about three dozen books, of varying sizes, while along each wall he could see were even more tomes, at least five book cases worth, and even those were overflowing a bit.

"Heavy readers, I take it?" he asked Hannah, and the human woman nodded.

"It takes the mind off things whenever there's no work to be done for a soldier or a colony administrator," she told him, then smiled as her husband came back, carrying a huge cup that was steamed a bit for himself, as well as two smaller containers, which he set down in front of them.

"You're in luck, Arus. This is an agro world, so we raise all sorts of crops here, including some special varieties of coffee beans that should be perfect for a dextro based life form such as yourself," he said, and pushed the container towards him. The thing was more like a bucket than a cup, and was not quite overflowing with liquid contents, steaming only a little less than the Terran's own.

"Unfortunately, I didn't really have anything in your size for cups, so you'll have to make do with some thimbles I found laying around," he said, before sipped at his cup. The look he got on his face afterward made the turian think the thing was some kind of drug. His hypothesis seemed even more correct when Hannah got a blissful look on her face after carefully sipping at her wide cup. Still, it would have been rude to refuse, and he doubted it would kill him.

He reconsidered that last bit a moment later, as the stuff touched his tongue, burning the sensitive bit of flesh, and nearly causing him to drop the bucket sized container. He was able to hold himself together long enough to set it down at his feet however, and then blow cool air over his mandibles, trying to cool the inside of his mouth. The two Shepards seemed to find his discomfort amusing, and after recovering a little, he laughed with him.

"Careful, it's hot stuff," said Adam, grinning.

"Your warning is most appreciated," said Arus, who blew on the container for a moment, blowing away the steam, and cooling the top layer of liquid just a bit. Picking it back up, he sipped it again, and this time actually tasted the beverage. It was...not bad. A bit bitter, but otherwise fine. He also quickly recognized that he was more awake afterward a moment. The stuff was a stimulant, if a light one.

"Not the worst thing I've had on this patrol," he commented, before gulping down a few mouthfuls, and setting the thimble aside. The two Terrans took their drinks a bit slower, but soon they set theirs down as well, and the three began to talk. At first, it was of course, Adam asking questions of the turian, every once in a while having to be told to lean back in his chair, as having him hanging over Arus made the micronian just the slightest bit nervous, for obvious reasons.

Topics ranged from where he was born, which happened to be on Palavan's smaller moon of Nanus, to when and why he'd joined the military. The latter proved to be of an interesting discussion topic, as apparently the universal draft of the turians, where everyone served for at least a few years of their lives, was not an unknown concept to the Terrans, who'd had something similar in their early days, just after the Federation was formed, but now looked on military service as something only a small fragment of their population needed to do.

When it was Arus' turn to ask questions, he reciprocated with questions on family and friends of the Shepards. It turned out that Hannah was a spacer born. She'd literally been born on a ship traveling between worlds, and had lived the first few years of her life aboard them, before joining the military so she would never have to leave them. Her husband, meanwhile, was a bit different. He'd been born on Earth, somewhere in the Pacific Desert, though he couldn't remember where precisely.

Of course, the topic then turned to how they met, which was typical as such things went. Shepard was a young officer at the time, barely out of her cadet stripes, and ready for action. Adam was just starting to work his way through the ranks of civil administration, an Undersecretary to the Senator of Titan. Shepard had been assigned to him as a guard on a particularly dangerous world, and the two had found common interests, that soon turned into interest in each other. And now, about fifteen years later, they had two children, and were living happily on the frontier.

"Children, that reminds me, where is this Jon you spoke of before? I thought I'd get to meet him along with Jane, but I haven't heard anyone else in this house," asked Arus, and Adam turned to look away, scratching at his ear in a way that even the turian could see he was trying not to say anything.

"Adam?" asked Shepard. Not that she hadn't noticed her son wasn't present in her home, but she'd been hoping to see her husband alone about that some time later. With Arus bringing it up, she might as well get the answer.

"He's in the infirmary right now. Not hurt or anything, not him," said the Terran, somehow looking sheepishly down at his wife, who currently couldn't even bite his ankle if she wanted to.

"What happened?" she said with a sigh as she stared at him, and Adam laid out the story. Apparently Jane and Jon had been in school earlier that week, when the governor's granddaughter had said something insulting to Jon. The boy had, according to Adam, as usual shrugged it off. Then the girl pushed him, into the dirt, and tried to start a fight. Jane, seeing her little brother try to play the big man and just walk away, had intervened, and she and the girl had come to blows. Blows that ended with the other girl having a broken nose.

"Alright, so what's being done to punish her then?" asked Hannah at the end of the tale, and Adam just shook his head.

"Jon insisted that I don't, that it was all his fault for not stopping the fight before it began. Heck, Ashley even came here to apologize to both of them, with her grandfather of course. Jon then went with them to the infirmary to just sit with her," explained Adam, and his wife just sighed at him, shaking her head.

"That boy would try to make friends with a t-rex if he ever saw one," said the woman at last, and conversation continued until, at long last, the two parents just stared at each other for a while. Conversation resumed, moving onto less charged topics, until, as the hours moved on, Hannah yawned. Outside, the sun was still shining, but then, Shanxi had a seventy-two hour day/night cycle. Looking at the clock, Hannah did a quick calculation in her head, and decided it was time to return to the ship, and to a bed.

"You sure you don't want to stay here? I mean, why not sleep in your own bedroom for a night, before we have to leave?" offered Arus, looking around and figuring there had to be more than enough room around here. Of course, he had been expecting a speech about duty or something, only to instead get a laugh from the pair.

"You really should pay attention more, Lieutenant Vakarian. I mentioned before that beds weren't something I was used to, don't you remember?" she asked, and Arus thought back to that first night in their shared quarters on the Talons. He'd assumed, naturally, that what she meant was the style of bed, now that he thought about it though, she had seemed to be talking more generally.

"I'm going to infer from that statement that means Terrans don't sleep...yet I saw you do it several times," he mentioned, and Hannah nodded at him.

"Terrans, when we're normal sized, have protoculture in our bodies. That stuff is like a small sun, and it makes us big, tough, and more importantly, keeps us energized. As such, eating and sleeping are optional activities, and most of us don't really see the point of the latter at all," she explained.

"Wait, if you don't have to eat, why do you have this coffee stuff?" he asked, kicking at the container still half full of the murky brown liquid at his feet.

"That's because some of us still like to do it. It's not necessary, true, but that doesn't mean it's not enjoyable once in a while. Most Terrans though, they subsist on a diet that's just a protoculture slurry every time they feel a little groggy. A glass or two a month for some, others once a day, depending on how much they work themselves," explained Adam to the tiny man, walking away for a moment, leaving him just staring after him, before returning and showing off a sealed bottle with glowing liquid inside.

"So, you just drink that, and it makes you big?" asked the turian.

"No, not at all. The process of becoming a full sized Terran involves pumping protoculture into every cell in our bodies. If you or Hannah drank this stuff, it would probably kill you by setting you on fire or something," mentioned Adam, before walking away to return the bottle. When he returned, having no more questions for the day, Arus said his farewells to the man, who held out his hand to help his wife and her guest outside, setting them down gently beside the cart they'd come in on.

Soon, they had the Corporal pushing them again, winding their way through the dusty roads of the town. As they left, Arus spied the young Ms. Shepard continuing her lesson with that enormous blade, still going just as fast, though sweat was pouring down her brow a bit. How long could she keep that up? Had she been doing that during the hours he'd been talking with her parents? The implications were just staggering from a military level, of soldiers that were not only massive, but required no food or sleep. Supply lines wouldn't be an issue at all.

Then he began to think farther about the colony he was on. Turians, Asari, Salarians, even Krogan and Batarians, they expanded because they had to, because they needed more resources or just space. These Terrans on this colony though, they were here because they wanted to be. This whole world was just for the raising of a luxury good back at home, and the people out here just wanted to be somewhere they could stretch their legs.

A species like this, that didn't need the same things they did, that expanded just because the space was there, and why not use it. That was horrifying in a way, and yet, they kept going farther. Exploration, in a way his people never had before. Pushing at the boundaries not because of a physical need, but because of a mental one. A need to push at those boundaries just because they were there. Still thinking of this, he came in sight of the ship, still guarded by the eight huge forms in armor, and began to wonder if the galaxy itself would be big enough for them.


	9. Citadel Arrival

She walked into the room, and found it empty again. This wasn't how it was supposed to be, of course. There should have been at least half a dozen of her colleagues on duty, monitoring the various holos, which contained a hundred minor reports that would need to be sorted through to find out what would need some personal attention, and what would sort itself out. Now those displays were running without a single eye to take in their information, or a mind to process it.

"I am going to kill those girls," said the woman to herself with a sigh, before walking forward and pressing a few buttons at each station, getting the information routed from them to her main console. Taking her seat there, she readied her mind with a few short breathing exercises, and then began to run her fingers along the controls like she were playing an instrument.

"This is Citadel Traffic Control, Mirga Loros reporting for duty," she said, and watched as a display compared her voice pattern to the one on file, before finally opening her station up to her. She was glad she'd come in early too, as there were apparently a few backups in the Wards traffic, which she sorted out with only a few button presses, guiding the people to their destinations. She smiled to herself as she began to settle into a routine, knowing that, despite what the politicians sometimes thought, it was really her hand that determined if business ever really got done.

Over the next hour or so, the others began to slowly filter in. Most looked ashamed of themselves, some even offered a heartfelt apology for abandoning their stations, which had been set to auto. Apparently there'd been a huge party on the Silversun Strip, and none of them had wanted to miss it. One night off, after four weeks of constant twelve hour plus shifts wasn't too much to ask, or so they rationalized, and Mirga tried to put on her best matriarch face for them, cowing each into their station as her fingers continued to dance.

In the back of her mind, she actually agreed with them. There was just not enough help in traffic control these days, and if it kept up, something was going to give. Either someone would slip up and push two ships into the same bay, or they'd kill a route guide during rush hour and literally back traffic up all the way to the Relay. She'd been telling the Council this for months now, but they, as usual, ignored her as she was only a matron, in charge of two dozen maidens. A middle aged woman leading a few young girls, none of them over a hundred.

Her mind was brought back into focus as something unusual happened. That in and of itself was rather shocking, as the Citadel ran on routine, with nothing off schedule usually happening for weeks at a time. This was more than just some batarian demanding priority in a traffic jam, or some turian general trying to get his personal ship in dock when there was no room. No, this was the arrival of a completely unknown ship, as large a dreadnaught, coming out of the relay.

"Get me Citadel Fleet Control, now!" she shouted, as another ship soon came into focus, a turian cruiser, which seemed to be flying with the strange ship. Mirga looked at that, and sighed again, looked like the girls wouldn't be getting another night off for a while.

OoOoO

"We have entered Citadel space, Commander," said the cadet, and Kryik nodded as he watched the display in front of him hum to life, soon showing a hologram of the Citadel. He tried to stare at it hard, to keep his stomach from doing flips again, while somewhere in the distance, he heard another crew member not quite being strong enough to keep it in, retching in a corner.

"Acknowledged. Bring us -urk- around, and open a -hurk- channel to Citadel Control," he ordered, looking over to find at least his crew wasn't the only ones having trouble. Mrs. Hayes was looking almost as green as some krogans he knew, though next to her stood that odd fellow, Exedore who was shorter than he would have expected of a giant, standing at less than five feet tall. He seemed perfectly fine, and kept staring at everything around him like a kid in a sweet shop.

"I'm going to assume that this Fold you preformed on us doesn't normally result in feeling like this," said the turian to his guest.

"Not normally, no. I've been through it hundreds of times now, and this is the first time it's caused this sort of problem for me," she told him, holding herself up against the railing of the observation deck. She was, to her credit, recovering more quickly than he was. Whether that was due to biology or her own fortitude was something to be sorted out later.

They'd Folded in a few kilometers away from the mass relay that led to the Citadel, with Kryik and his crew having been told this was the reason for the larger ship, as it's 'Fold Bubble' could be expanded out enough to encompass his entire ship. Even still sick to his stomach, Nihlus had to admit, it was impressive. At best speed, going through all the connections, the Citadel was a week away at best for a cruiser of the Talons' mass, and probably three weeks for something the size of the larger ship. The Terran's vessel Agamemnon had been able to get them here in only a few minutes.

Still thinking on that, he watched as several of his people slowly got to their stations, specifically the communications officers. It took a few minutes of sorting through the various signals coming in to find the one they actually wanted, as everyone was curious about this new ship. He even got an offer from a batarian to trade for the ship and crew on the side, as if he could have just given away the dreadnaught sized ship that was escorting his Talons.

"This is the Destiny Ascension to the turian ship in formation with the unknown vessel. You will respond immediately, or we will be forced to consider your hostile and open fire," came an asari voice over the comm, and the view of the Citadel was soon replaced with an old matriarch who was obviously in charge.

"Destiny Ascension, this is the turian Cruiser Talons, registry number PMV-86824 under my command, Nihlus Kryik. The vessel with us is a representative of a new species we made contact with out in Local Cluster. They are called Terrans," he said to the asari, who seemed a bit taken aback by his words, and turned from him to someone away from her holo. She spent several minutes chatting with whoever was just out of sight, before finally turning to Kryik again.

"Commander Nihlus, we have been informed that your formation was on a patrol mission in the Local Cluster. May we infer that Captain Arterius and the six frigates that should be with you were lost in battle?" asked the asari, and Kryik smiled at her while chuckling to himself.

"You could say that. The frigates are currently floating out near Relay 314, and the Captain is in the brig right now, pending a formal hearing," he said simply, and it had the desired effect of causing the asari to just stand there without saying anything as she processed that, before continuing.

"Sounds like you have quite the story to tell us. We have made arrangements for you to dock at Bachjert Ward. It's the only place with enough space for your friend on the Citadel," she explained, and the commander nodded at her, while wondering if there really was any place large enough for Terrans on the great station.

"My thanks then. We'll find our beacon and be on our way," he said, before the transmission cut out. They then had to spend about ten minutes getting the beacon's signal over to the Agamemnon, though once that was done, it took less than five before the two ships were sliding into the bays, the larger ship just a bit more gracefully, as it stopped even before the mass effect field would have forced it to.

Behind both ships, the Citadel Fleet closed ranks. Over a hundred ships of all shapes and sizes brought their weapons to bare on the unknown vessel, though no one did anything more aggressive than that, thankfully. Questions had to be asked before the shooting started, though Kryik knew there were probably quite a few captains waiting out there for him to claim his crew were captives of this new race, and they needed to be destroyed now. He wouldn't do that, obviously, but it amused him that so many people were hanging on his word.

Giving a few last minute orders, Commander Nihlus led his guests to the bridge's airlock, a small company of guards and Lieutenant Vakarian forming up with them. A few seconds later, and the entire group was exiting the Talons, and looking towards the dock before them. Normally, it would be a place of hundreds of works scurrying about to keep ships moving in and out. Right now, there were instead almost a hundred forms in armor, all with guns held beside them, though none were being pointed at them yet, as a single form stepped forward.

"General Ororian, it's a pleasure to see you today," said Kryik, his entire party, including the two Terrans, giving a salute to the general. The older turian seemed to find that odd, though he only eyed the two aliens for a moment, before turning in on the commander.

"I wished the same could be said for you, Kryik. Now, would you mind explaining to me why these aliens were on the bridge of one of the Hierarchy's frontline warships?" asked the general, and Kryik looked behind him, smiled once at the two, and then turned back towards the general with a more somber expression on his face.

"They're dignitaries of the Terran Federation, Prime Thinker Exedore and Representative Amanda Hayes. They're here to meet with the Citadel Council about relations with their people," he gestured to each in turn. Smooth skinned beings, one with pale white, and one with darker brown. The looked sort of like asari, but with fur on top of their heads. Interestingly, the pale skinned one had brown fur, and the brown skinned one red.

"I'm afraid we got off to a rocky enough start that they didn't exactly have a good reason to trust us, so I offered to transport them and their guard myself. Further details are in the report you should be receiving now, sir," and as if right on cue, the general's omnitool beeped once. Looking down at it, he pressed two buttons to dismiss the message, and then looked up at the commander.

"I'll read it later. For now, these Terrans are to be escorted to the Presidium, and you and your crew are to disembark, so I can have a full crew go over your vessel," he ordered, and turned away.

"General, do you mean all the Terrans are to go to the Presidium? Including their guards?" asked Kryik suddenly, and the general sighed, before turning back.

"How many guards do they have?" he asked, worried a bit due to the urgency in Nihlus' voice.

"Just one," said Kryik, and General Tersius Ororian just looked at him for a moment, thinking this was some kind of prank. The serious look in his eyes though, made the general wonder, and so he nodded.

"If it's just one guard, that shouldn't disrupt things too much," said the general simply, and then watching Kryik as he said a few words into this omnitool. The general had expected the door behind him to open wide to admit the guard, but then was surprised when instead, the cargo doors three decks down and well behind the bridge made the metallic grinding sounds. Walking over to clear his view, he wondered just what was going on, when suddenly, a shudder could be felt through the floor, just a slight one. Then a second. Then a foot appeared out of that cargo bay.

Well, calling it a foot was to undersell it. It was as huge thing, longer than he was tall, with a flat, ridged bottom designed to get a grip on even loose terrain, but be useable on the solid stuff. It was also green in coloring, metal by the look of it, and a solid kind of metal at that. Looking up, he could could see a seal above it, where it attached to a leg smoothly, so it was locked in place. That leg had the same armor as the boot, and so did the rest of it, a bipedal form with a smooth, bullet shaped head that had a single red eye.

"By the ancestors, what is that?!" he demanded. The thing was huge, at least sixty feet tall. The C-Sec guards behind him were looking at the thing, then at their weapons, and then back at it, as the thing's head began to turn, and finally find them. Walking forward it came to a halt just behind the party from the turian vessel, and stood there like a sentinel of old, powerful in every way one could be.

"That is my guard. Her name is Commander Hannah Shepard of the Federation Fleet. As the one who spent the most time among your people during the last few weeks, I believed she would be the perfect one to escort myself and Prime Thinker Exedore," said the pale skinned Terran, and Ororian turned to her, his face suddenly very calm as he heard an explanation that fit the facts.

"I'm afraid this vehicle she's riding in would not be permitted on the Presidium. If she'll exit it, however, she can accompany you," he told her in a flat voice, trying to suppress a very deep seated urge to run away from this giant thing. In the back of his mind, he kept trying to equate it with a ship, a small one really, as his primal fear instinct didn't work against them, his training having beaten that out of him, but this thing was something else entirely, and he was forced to deal with his mind's unhelpful suggestions at flight by gritting his mandibles and putting up with it.

"That would be difficult for her to do. Shepard, would you please remove your helmet for a moment?" said Representative Hayes, the last turning towards the huge vehicle. The thing shrugged in an all to personable manner, before reaching the two arms up and then twisting the helmet. There was a hiss of escaping pressurized air, before the thing was lifted, revealing a face not unlike the Terrans before him, smooth like an asari with a tuft of light blue fur on top. This face, however, was several stories above him, and looking down on him like he was a bug to be stepped on.

"This, General Ororian, is a Terran at our natural size. Exedore and myself used a process to come down to your level to more easily facilitate negotiations," Hayes informed him, and to his credit, Ororian was only flabbergasted for a moment, before turning to his omnitool. No one could see what he was looking at until he raised his eyes again.

"I see. This complicates matters, unfortunately. There are no lifts on this level capable of supporting Commander Shepard. The closest is three levels down from here. We'll have to get a transport to help her get," he was cut off by that giant holding out its hand at him.

"Is that it down there?" it asked him, in a voice that boomed only a little, pointing down at the lift he'd been talking about. There were still a few crews down there, he'd order them out of the way by the time the Terran had arrived though.

"Yes, now, if you'll just-" began the general, only to be cut off again, as the Terran reequipped its helmet, and then turned to Representative Hayes.

"I'll meet you on the Presidium then. Please be cautious while we're separated Mrs. Hayes," said the Terran, and then they leapt off the dock. The fall was almost half a mile, a long drop even for someone of a Terran's size, but as General Ororian watched, small jets came from the suit's hands and feet, burning with a blue light that slowed the armored form, just before it landed. It didn't fall to its knees or anything, though the impact of all that weight caused everything gathered at the dock to bounce once, and threw every single worker off their feet.

"I believe Mrs. Shepard may have caused a bit of a mess down there. We might want to remind her that we're guests, and should take precautions against breaking our host's things," said Exedore after a moment, watching as Shepard helped to pick up some of the things that had fallen, while everyone on the same dock was running away to hide behind anything they could. Commander Shepard then walked up to the lift, and said something that was lost as just so much noise to those by the Talons, before the lift went down towards the Presidium Ring far below.

"Commander Kryik!" shouted General Ororian as the lift below fell out of sight.

"Sir?" he asked, snapping another salute.

"I'm getting these two down to the Presidium, before that thing starts tearing the place apart waiting. You are to oversee the debarkation of your crew, and then all of you are to report to the turian garrison. No one is to leave until I have gotten a chance to interview you. Understood?" he ordered.

"Aye, general," said the commander simply, and then began to bark a few orders of his own, the crewmen aboard the Talons starting to come out, while Ororian and several C-Sec guards got into the nearby elevator with the two Terrans, and then shot downward towards a Presidium that was already a bustle of activity at the arrival of the unknown species, and was about to be even more busy as a member of that species stepped off the transport lift, with huge booming footsteps.


	10. Presidium

"Gods, this sucks," said the batarian to the turian next to him. Both of them were sitting down, for the first time in about four hours or so since their shift started. The turian, for his part, just nodded in agreement with his companion. They should have had at least a dozen more with them, preferably krogan, though since they weren't allowed on the Presidium, at least a few turians. Behind them, being carted off on a few transports was their labor so far, a few huge crates burdened with food, parts, and the other supplies that kept the Presidium turning.

Before the turian could give voice to a complaint, the lift began to hum, indicating an incoming car, and the two just sighed as they rose to get back to work. Then the lift stopped. Then it opened. Then the batarian and turian minds looking into the lift stopped, the two brains unable to adequately process what they were seeing. The thing in front of them, crouched down to fit into the lift, stepped out, huge feet slamming into the Presidium floor, though the material didn't even crack under the weight. It did vibrate, and both were forced to grab onto the boxes they'd been sitting on a moment ago, while staring upwards.

"Hmm," came a voice, as it looked around, finally looking down. They could see it clearly now, a huge, flat panel of a face. No eyes, no obvious sensors or mouth, just staring, and they wondered if it was about to blast them or some such.

"I have some friends coming down on an elevator from above. Do you know where they'd come out at?" asked a booming, feminine voice. The pair, looking at each other, then behind them to find that all the transports had already booked it, just turned back up to that face.

"The lifts from Bachjert Ward come out there. The elevators about two hundred yards in that direction!" shouted the batarian at last, pointing towards the arrival area. The huge thing looked over towards where he was pointing, and then turned back down to him, crouching down, nearly making them think it was going to collapse on them and crush them.

"Thank you," it said after a moment, and then rose upwards, and started off towards the transport hub. The two men watched as it walked away, most of the Presidium foot traffic quickly finding other places to be as those huge feet came down with thunderous booms on the floor. At last, it turned a corner, and then the booming footfalls faded into the distance, leaving the two to stare after it, then stare at each other for a few minutes, before the batarian rose to his feet, straightened his disheveled work shirt, and started to walk away.

"Hey! Where are you going!?" demanded the turian, as his brain finally caught back up to what was going on.

"Archos! I'm going to get drunk like never before. Gods willing, I'll get there fast enough that this memory will be drowned out by the alcohol," he said, as he made his way to a nearby lift. The turian, looking after the huge thing, suddenly rush after him.

"Make that a double order of brain bleach," he said as he got in, and the two abandoned their post for the day, both knowing they didn't get paid nearly enough for this crud.

OoOoO

"Fascinating. I feel the motion only slightly, though if I were to guess, we are currently moving at several hundred miles an hour," commented the shorter Terran as he looked out at the lights of the elevator. Ororian said nothing to him, merely facing forward, trying not to let mental images play across his mind of that Terran woman(He'd asked Hayes about Terran genders), literally crushing some politician under her foot, and then him getting blamed for it for allowing her down there.

Luckily for his nerves, the instant the elevator doors opened, he spotted her, standing there in front of them, at attention. Around her, as one would expect, were various members of C-Sec, as well as any of the usual rubberneckers that tended to visit the Presidium. The crowd was, luckily for them, standing well back from the woman, whose shoes weren't covered in blood, hopefully meaning she had avoided stepping on anyone in her walk to the elevators.

"Thank the Ancestors for small mircales," said the general to himself as his party came out of their elevator, only to be quickly approached by one of the C-Sec guards in a lieutenant's uniform.

"Stand back, this situation is under C-Sec control," he said, as he came forward, holding up a hand to prevent the party from getting any closer to unknown...thing, that had already scared half the Presidium into demanding a tactical strike against it.

"I'm afraid not, Pallin. This matter goes way over your head," said the general to the C-Sec agent as he stood aside for Mrs. Hayes to approach her body guard. The C-Sec officers did try and get in front of her, but when the giant thing leaned forward, most of them decided to see what would happen, from a safe distance.

"You know, I didn't really bring you here to intimidate the locals," said Hayes, her face broken out in a mischievous grin saying that, while not her plan, it wasn't unexpected.

"I haven't even said anything to anyone other than some workers around the lift, ma'am," she said, her voice booming in that odd Terran way, while everyone around the two just stared. It was an odd sight, the huge giant on one knee talking to the woman who was barely taller than her ankle.

"Well, just try to look a little less intimidating for a bit. Maybe take the helmet off for a while, and let them see you with your hair down," suggested Hayes, and Shepard looked around at those below her, before standing up and doing just that. Her helmet came free a bit more easily this time, without that hiss sound, so soon everyone below her was staring, some with their jaws almost on the floor. Most had assumed her to be some kind of mechanized weapon system or the like, but to find that there was a living creature beneath that armor was a shock.

"Is this any better?" she asked, looking around, trying her best to put on a smile. Her efforts, such as they were, proved to at least have some effect. No one looked to be calming down, but no one looked to be about to run or shoot her, so that was a positive change.

"It will do for now. Come on, we have to get to the Citadel Tower. They found a docket for us so we can introduce ourselves at least," said Hayes as she walked off down one of the paths of the Presidium, Exedore soon following behind her, running to catch up. Shepard then looked down at the turian party with General Ororian, all of whom nervously stroked weapons, until she motioned for them to follow the pair, which they did at just a bit of a quicker pace than decorum would have dictated, while she followed behind, taking slow, deliberate steps to keep pace with the rear.

Their journey was, luckily, short, as the elevator hub for most of the wards tended to be near the one that would take one up the Citadel Tower. Of course, the embassies of most of the known races were in the same area, and for much the same reason, ease of access. This meant that their journey was watched by hundreds of eyes, most of which would have normally ignored the party marching through with only a second glance, but couldn't tear their gaze away from the giant.

By the time they reached the elevator to the Council Chamber itself, they had acquired a large group around them. None were getting closer than a few dozen yards, in fact most would stop for a few minutes whenever the deep, green eyes of the giant passed over them. No shots were fired, and no one in the crowd around them made the slightest hostile move, all waiting to see just what was going to happen.

"What do you mean I have to wait down here?" demanded the giant in a voice that was at once calm, and at the same time dripping with threats to the turian at her heel.

"I'm afraid this is the only way into the tower, and it's not large enough for you. Even if there were, the Council Chamber itself would be a bit cramped for something of your size," shouted up Ororian, standing his ground against her.

"Well then maybe those Councilors should come down here, because..." she stopped as Hayes stepped forward, holding up her hand towards the giant.

"Now, now, I'm sure this is something we'll work out eventually. For now though, it would be a good move on our part if we followed their routine rather than ask them to change it, wouldn't you agree, Commander Shepard?" asked the brown haired woman of her azure haired counterpart.

"Ma'am, my duty is to protect you. I can't very well do that if you're out of my sight," insisted Shepard, and Amanda Hayes sighed, somewhat regretting her choice of protection, as a cadet would have just blindly accepted the order. The cadet would also have likely stepped on someone by now, so Shepard still won out in that department.

"General, you said this was the only way in or out of the Council Chamber, correct?" she asked him, and the turian nodded.

"Barring a space walk, which would require the entire Tower to be depressurized," he told her, and she smiled at him, before turning back to Shepard.

"You see, if you just wait here, and I'll be back shortly. If I do have any trouble, I'll contact you, and you can rip the Tower apart with your bare hands to get me back," she said, offering a scenario that made literally everyone who wasn't a Terran listening blanch a bit, as their minds gave them images of the giant doing just that.

"I will stand watch here then," she said, and assumed an at attention pose beside the opening for the elevators. With that out of the way though, Exedore presented a new puzzle for the turians.

"If this is where the political discussions begin, I suppose this is where I should take my leave," he told Hayes, with a very formal bow.

"Yes, I thought as much. You're going to go to those shops we passed to try and buy some new toys, right?" she chided him, and the shorter man chuckled at her.

"You know me all too well, Amanda. First though, I will need to find an exchanger to get some of these credits they trade with," so saying, he turned to the general.

"Would one of your men kindly escort me? I wouldn't want to impose, but I didn't see a map of this section in any of my preliminary data," he explained, and Ororian quickly assigned one of the C-Sec officers under his command to help Exedore with his quest, with a few silent orders to keep an eye on him, and protect him in case someone from an embassy got grabby.

"Good travels, Prime Thinker," said Shepard, and suddenly Hayes turned around, an annoyed look on her face.

"You make a big deal about wanting to protect me, and yet you just let Exedore wander?" asked the smaller woman, to which the larger just responded with a shrug.

"He's two thousand years your senior, and he's a Zentraedi, even if a small one," she said, as if that explained everything. Amanda just turned towards the man she'd been talking about, and he smiled at her in a way that one would a favorite granddaughter. For her part, Hayes just smiled back at him, before entering the elevator with the general, which then shot upwards into the sky. Soon after, Exedore turned a corner, leaving Shepard standing there at attention with her helmet at her feet, crowds still gathering around her, staying well back.

It was almost twenty minutes later that the first oddity happened. A small creature she had seen in her walk here scuttled past her. It didn't seem to even notice her, and the crowd parted as it passed through them, like they barely noticed it. She filed that away as odd, figuring the thing was either inattentive and hadn't noticed, or just something that didn't see well. Then she hard a crackling sound, and looked down to find one of the things messing with her boot, a small cutting tool in its hand.

"Hey!" she shouted, pulling her foot away, and then pointing her palm at it. The suit reacted as it should to her fingers splayed out as far as the could, the palm itself opening up and starting to hum a little as light could be seen building up inside it.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked, and the thing only just then seemed to notice the boot had moved, starting to look around, before it put the tool it had been using back in its pack, and scurried off, as if it hadn't heard her.

"Hey! I'm talking to you!" she shouted, and watched it go through a now deserted part of the street, the crowd quickly running out of sight, as she kept her hand aimed at the thing, ready to fire.

"It can't hear you. That thing's a keeper," said one of the turians at her feet. She looked down at him, quickly remembering his armor from just a few minutes ago.

"Pallin, right?" she asked, crouching down so she was resting on her heels, as the turian nodded.

"Venari Pallin, Underlieutenant to the Executor. I'm pleased you remember me," he said, sounding like he actually meant it.

"I have a good memory for faces. What's a keeper?" she said, lowering her hand, the low whining sound coming from her gauntlet fading away as she resumed her post.

"Keepers are the maintainers of the Citadel. We don't know too much about them, but the things go about their business, cleaning, repairing, and otherwise making the place function perfectly. However, you can't get answers from them, no matter how hard you try," he told the Terran, who nodded, looking after the thing.

"Is there a way to keep them from trying to cut into my armor?" she asked.

"Just keep moving, they don't touch something if it's in motion," explained the turian, and Shepard nodded again, looking around. Her gaze finally rested on the water next to her. It looked to be some kind of artificial lake, with several large fountains in it.

"Is there anything living in that water?" she asked, and looking where she was pointing, Pallin shook his head.

"No, that water is part of the Citadel's reserve. It sits there until they pump it around and filter it for drinking or whatever else they need it for," he explained, wondering where she was going with this.

"Would anyone mind if I walked in it?" she asked him, and Pallin had to think about that for a second. Normally he would have chided someone who asked that, the filters and pumps of the lake being fairly strong, but the one he was talking to, even crouched down the way she was, she stood several times his height.

"I don't think so, but what are you going to do?" he asked her, and she smirked down at him as she got up, taking a step out into the water to find it was just about ankle deep to her. She then walked out into the middle of the lake and pulled part of her suit off. Of course, now that she held it in her hand, he realized it was something that had been stuck to her armor, rather than was part of it, as the silver sheen of the thing clashed with the overall black aesthetic of the armor.

He continued to wonder what she was about, when she flicked her wrist, and held the thing out in hone hand. It began to unfold then, the chink and click of metal against itself as slowly plates came out, and then locked into place, forming a solid surface. Two small handles then popped out of the side, keeping her hands away from the upper part, which he soon recognized as an enormous sword, a weapon that looked as long as the Terran woman was tall, and was probably just as heavy.

Then she began to move with it. Her form was a bit less perfect, probably due to the water that was up to her ankles, making her strides less measured, but she adapted quickly. The thing whistled in the air as it passed, and Pallin could have sworn he felt the wind from it a few times. He would have told her to stop after a few minutes, but then decided to let her keep going, as her sword danced, and most of the lookey loos began to hang farther back.

It took a few words to Citadel Control to get traffic in the Presidium rerouted around Shepard's display, but luckily, in that time, only one car had come close, and her sword danced around it, seemingly passing through it in one motion as she twirled the weapon between her hands, and then brought it straight up, the tip almost touching the ceiling of the Presidium, but falling just a few feet short, before she started the routine again, getting an impressed bit of applause from the crowd as she kept it going.

(Author's Note:

For those curious, Archos is what would later be known as Chora's Den in the Mass Effect canon.)


	11. Meeting the Terrans

"Here, this is one of the Exchanger Stations," said the turian, and Exedore nodded as he went inside. Once there, he was rather shocked to find the place mostly bare. His experiences with humanity and the Terrans had told him that most races tended more towards form over function, when it came to business, but this establishment, with only a counter and a few bare walls, appeared to be much more the latter than the former. He put that fact out of his mind as he walked up to the nearby counter and found a small alien standing behind it in some kind of environmental suit.

"-Kush- Hello and welcome to the Citadel Exchanger. -Kish- How may I help you today?" asked the being behind the counter. Exedore looked at him, and was somewhat amused to find that was standing on an elevated platform behind his station, and even that only brought him up to eye level with Exedore himself. Used to being shorter than most, he was always grateful to find someone else who wasn't quite as large as everyone else.

"Yes, I believe you can help me. I'm a visiting dignitary, and have none of your local currency, as such, I wish to trade some raw resources for it. Would I be able to do that here?" he asked, and the being behind the counter shook itself forward a bit. Obviously, it was supposed to be a nod, but the suit the being wore literally required it to shake its whole body in the motion.

"-Kush- Indeed good sir. What sort of resources would you have for exchange?" asked the alien, and Exedore reached into a pocket of his uniform, before pulling out a small vial with some shining silver stones in it.

"As this is my people's first visit to the Citadel, we have a variety of resources to trade, but this seems to be the most valuable according to a few friendly turians. I believe it's called, platinum," he said, and then handed the vial to the being behind the counter. It seemed to eye the stuff inside with the gaze of a jeweler appraising a fine cut gem. It then activated the omnitool it wore on its arm and ran it over it, the breathing apparatus suddenly giving a few choking sounds out of it.

"This sample, it's ninety percent pure," it said, probably having forgotten there was anyone else around it. At the other stations on the counter, similar beings looked over from whatever they were doing, one even leaving a client to come by and look at it.

"Ninety percent pure?" said the one that came up, running its own omnitool over the sample, and getting a similar reading, before both turned to Exedore.

"How much do you have of this? A few ounces?" they asked him, and Exedore chuckled a little.

"Oh my no. We came with more than that. I believe almost ten tons of it, give or take a few hundred pounds," he said, and then watched as the second alien behind the counter rolled over, probably passing out in its suit. The one who'd been helping him just sputtered a few things, and then finally collected himself.

"Are they all of this purity?" he asked, and Exedore just nodded, before finding himself covered in a bustle of activity, as the aliens began to shuffle the others in line out, leaving only Exedore and his turian guide.

"We'll give you full market value, right now, one hundred and fifty million credits," said what Exedore assumed to be the leader of these volus, a name the turian had whispered to him during the chaos of evacuating the place.

"Hmm, that sounds reasonable, but do you mind if I talk with someone aboard my ship about this first?" he asked, and the volus seemed to hesitate for a moment, before motioning for him to do so. Smiling, Exedore tapped at his ear, and the small device there, which beeped at him a few times, before a female voice finally came on.

"Ivanova here, do you need something Prime Thinker?" said the voice.

"Yes, do you have access to that galactic hypernet that Commander Kryik spoke of?" he asked.

"I'm on it right now, actually. A wealth of galactic culture, information, and porn. Mostly that last one, sadly, but there is a large selection of the second. Did you need something in particular?" she asked him, and he found himself blushing a little at the thought of what might be on there, making a mental note to avoid a straight info dump when he came to view it.

"Yes, what would the current price of the platinum be in our cargo hold right now?" he said, and then heard the voice on the other end turn to static for a few moments, as she went over the data, before finally coming back.

"At current market value, being about twelve hundred credits an ounce, we should be getting around three-hundred-eighty-four-million credits," she informed him, and he nodded, smiling as he turned back towards the volus, who seemed to be shaking a little.

"Thank you, Commander Ivanova," he told her.

"It was my pleasure, Prime Thinker," she responded, before his earpiece chirped, and he faced the exchangers.

"Now, I believe you were about to tell me you'd give me three-hundred-eighty-million credits for my cargo, which would be around the galactic standard for such things, were you not?" he asked, smiling politely, but somehow exuding an aura that just screamed that he could kill the suited aliens without breaking a sweat. They were quick to give him exactly what he asked for, even setting up an account with Citadel Services so he wouldn't have to carry around anything but a single card, which he then walked out with, the turian beside him whistling as that went.

"That was impressive," he said, and Exedore chuckled a little at the compliment.

"As Mrs. Hayes stated, I am over two thousand years old. While the last few centuries have been spent in more peaceful endeavors, the majority of it was as a soldier and commander. One never truly forgets the skills of command," he said, and the turian nodded. Exedore then asked where they would find a good shop for things like omnitools, holoprojectors, and various other seemingly random goods. The turian, just wanting to see how this went, directed him towards the shopping district, smirking as the new guy, fresh off a transport, took the seasoned salespeople for everything they were worth.

OoOoO

"Is it always this loud?" asked Hayes of the general as they stood at the foot of a set of stairs. About them, aides, clerks, and just onlookers were paying very little attention to the proceedings, as a four eyed alien, a batarian she'd been told, was shouting at the Council concerning the indignities suffered at the hands of the turians. She had soon taken to just letting his shouts slide off her own brain, as he said nothing of substance at all, just listing events, but never the actions taken.

"When four eyes is on the Stage? Yeah, pretty much," confirmed the general, as they waited through three more diatribes about all the things the batarian people had done for galactic society. This did have at least two positives. The first was that it gave Amanda time to look over shoulders, and ask a few questions of those around her. She discovered many interesting things on the intricacies of Citadel politics.

Some like her own, where civic funds were spent and the like, while others were utterly alien, like these hanar things and how often you could invoke the 'Enkindlers', their name for the protheans that had built the mass relays. Still, each was connected by that common thread of elected offices, namely, pandering to your base. She understood that well enough, as she had to do a lot of that back home to get her position as Representative on the Conclave. Though she would need time to learn all the various bases she would need to pander to, it gave her some comfort to know that aliens, at least in that way, were just like Terrans.

The second reason four eye's speech was a good thing was, apparently many of the people waiting for their chance on the Petitioner's Stage had heard his words before. This meant that many, seeing him rant and rave, got out of the lineup, and just wandered away. It did make her wonder how long he'd been talking, considering they were unwilling to waste anymore time with this, but then, they probably had other appointments to get to, and had no more time to throw away just waiting.

Finally, after almost two hours, the batarian ambassador finished his ranting and raving, leaving off with a threat of action that seemed to just bore the Council. The only other petitioner between Hayes and them now was a much quieter individual, a helpful asari matriarch, Benezia. She'd been the one answering most of the Terran's questions during the long wait, and better yet had only a single matter to bring before them, regarding her daughter and a prothean dig site, a matter that was settled with a few words.

"Good luck," whispered the blue woman as Hayes passed her, and she smiled in thanks, as she and General Ororian walked up to stand in front of the Council. They eyed her suspiciously as she approached, the turian turning towards her, and then the general, before looking at his omnitool.

"Hmm, a new species. Perhaps the ones that escorted the Talons into dock earlier today?" asked the turian, his tone implying something, though Hayes decided not to rise to it.

"I was actually aboard the Talons itself when it docked, though I do represent the larger vessel. My name is Amanda Hayes, Representative of the Senate on the Conclave, and one of the leaders of the Terran Federation," she explained, and the two other Councilors took a moment to look at their own tools, obviously looking up details that they had missed in the hustle and bustle of the day's petitions. The Terran woman just waited to give them time to look over the data, before raising their eyes to her. The asari, for her part, seemed amused by this, her smile friendly and inviting, while the salarian seemed an odd mirror of the turians, matching his scowl despite the difference in facial features.

"Another new race that presents its flagship as if to impress us," said the salarian, a female of her species, in a dismissive tone. Amanda was tempted, just for a moment, to contact the Agamemnon and order the SDF-3 to Fold near the Citadel, let the Council see their full might. She contained that childish urge however, and powered onward.

"We seek nothing more than to become part of the Galactic Community, Dalatrass, and avoid the sort of incidents that occurred at the Shanxi Relay," she said instead.

"Shanxi?" asked the asari in the middle of the Council.

"Our name for a planet in the system containing the Mass Relay designated Three-One-Four," she explained, and the asari woman nodded.

"A relay you were tying to activate and only failed to do to the quick actions taken by Captain Desolas Arterius," added the turian to her statement. This information was obviously not in the quick updates the other two had read, as they both seemed rather shocked by the news.

"Something we would have stopped, had we been asked. The Captain's decision to fire on an unarmed Terran repair veritech is the reason I'm here. Such things poison the waters between our peoples, and that must be avoided at all costs," she said, and the asari Councilor nodded in agreement, placing her hand on the turian Councilor's shoulder when it looked like he was about to start a shouting match with this woman.

"A noble sentiment, and one I must wholeheartedly agree with. In the name of relations, I say that we adjourn this Petitioner Meeting, for a scheduled time tomorrow, so this matter might be the focus of the Council's attention. All in favor?" she asked of the two around her. The turian still looked ready to fight about this, and mentally noted to go see Desolas as soon as the day's business was done, but he agreed to the recess, and the salarian did likewise.

"Then considered this matter tabled. Mrs. Hayes, if you would, there is an embassy near my own that is currently empty. While it has only basic amenities, it could serve as your temporary quarters if you'd like," offered the blue alien.

"That would do just fine, I believe," she answered, and the blue woman smiled at her, before turning her gazed to the turian next to the Terran.

"You know the embassy I am speaking of, correct General Ororian?" she asked of the man, and he nodded.

"Good, if you would escort her there then," she said, and Representative Hayes gave a quick bow from the Petitioner's Stage, before walking off with the general.

"Your Councilor seemed rather annoyed with me," she said as they walked into the elevator, the doors closing behind them.

"He is. Captain Arterius was a friend of his. Had events gone done differently and he been the one to capture your crews, I wouldn't be surprised if Desolas got a promotion was made the general in charge of showing your people the folly of breaking Citadel Laws," he explained simply, and Hayes nodded as she and the general slowly descended the tower, finally arriving back at the Presidium.

What they saw as the exited the car was a crowd. At first, it almost looked like a riot, as screams echoed over the area, people pointing towards a massive shape standing out in the pool beside the elevator. It soon became apparent though, as those screams were accompanied by a few smatterings of applause that they were enthralled by something. Looking where they were, Hayes and Ororian were startled to find Shepard juggling. Specifically she was juggling one of the Citadel Transport Aircars, a turian in full armor, what appeared to be her sword in it full extended form, and a large ball.

"Pallin!""Shepard!" shouted the two together as they realized what was going on, and the entire crowd turned to the angry shouts, some recognizing the first voice as one of the leaders of the Citadel Fleet. For her part, Shepard said nothing, and merely caught each item as it came down, setting the car down on a small strip of sidewalk, then the turian, then catching the sword and twisting the pommel so it folded into its travel form, before finally catching the ball easily with one hand, then setting that down in front of a small asari girl as she stood at attention in the water, the turian standing and mimicking her.

"General""Representative" the two said together, and both leaders forced their way through the crowd as they started to quickly disperse and go on about their business. As they got up to their subordinates, they both started the dressing down in almost perfect unison, only to stop as they spoke, Ororian gesturing towards Hayes.

"Ladies first," he said, and she nodded in thanks, before turning back to Shepard.

"Now just what in the name of Macross was going on here?!" she demanded of the giant woman, who, thanks to standing in the water, was at least a little closer to her leader.

"I was fostering a sense of kinship with the locals, ma'am," she responded, though she kept a neutral expression on her face as she answered.

"And just what were you doing, Lieutenant?" asked Ororian in a much softer tone, though one that just said if he didn't like the answer, he was going to make sure the poor turian was cleaning toilets for the next year.

"I was helping Mrs. Shepard foster of sense of kinship with the locals, sir," she responded, again, a neutral expression on his face, neither of them seeming willing to volunteer anymore information beyond that. The two leaders looked at each other, than at their subordinates, and finally both sighed in unison.

"Alright, if you can explain, in a way that makes sense, how the two of you ended up as a circus act, we won't demote you, but it better be good," said Hayes, and Ororian seemed to agree, as both crossed their arms, and just stood there staring at the other two.

"Sir, I was watching Mrs. Shepard practice her swordswomanship at which she is quite skilled, I must say. After a few minutes of this, a small crowd had begun to gather. The asari girl had a ball on her that could be inflated to a large size, and Hannah started to bounce it on her sword to show off even more skill. Then, she began tossing the sword and ball back and forth in her hands. Then she asked for a volunteer to be tossed around. As the crowd was reluctant, I stepped forward to help," explained Pallin, and the general eyed him up and down, before turning to Hayes, as if giving her the floor.

"Shepard, this had better be good," she said, and the giant woman actually managed to swallow in a worried fashion that looked rather charming, rather than threatening.

"As Underlieutenant Pallin said, I asked for a volunteer, since I knew how to handle a small person without harming them. I was just trying to keep the crowd entertained, and hopefully build a bridge or two while I was at it," explained Shepard.

"And how did the car become involved?" she asked, and both Shepard and Pallin suddenly seemed much more reluctant to talk. However, under the eyes of her leader, Shepard finally cracked.

"The car nearly ran into Pallin as he was flying. The thing was on autopilot, and no one was inside, so I leapt up and grabbed it, before adding it to the routine. It was the only way I could think of not to worry the crowd over what had just happened. Make it part of the act," she said, and the two leaders looked at each other again, before finally, almost in perfect unison, they sighed, put their palms on their faces, and shook their heads, before finally turning back towards their subordinates.

"Alright, no court martials, but if there are any more unscheduled circus acts, we'll be finding both of you some backwater stations to deploy on, understood?" said Ororian, and the two saluted. A few more pleasantries were then shared, before the general led the two Terrans to an embassy office. It was, obviously, too small for Shepard, but she merely took a guard position outside, putting her helmet back on as she stood there, seemingly just part of the architecture, one that would nearly give the asari Councilor a heart attack, before she got the full story, and was allowed to talk a bit more privately with Amanda Hayes regarding the Terran Federation and their place in the Galactic Community.


	12. Preliminary Negotiations

"This is quite good. Did you make it yourself, Tevos?" asked Exedore as he sipped at the cup in his hand. In front of him were three lovely ladies, which would normally have made him quite the swinger, or so he thought the term went. His thoughts were more on the things/technological toys/useless junk he had brought in with him, and had he an option, even with the lovely tea, he would have forgone the pleasure of company to begin playing with his purchases. Hayes had impressed on him the need to be friendly with the asari Councilor, and so he grinned at her instead.

"I feel the personal touch in these matters is best," she said, taking a small sip from her own cup. To her left, Hayes had already set her's down, the empty cup upside down in the saucer, while she smiled and played politician. Outside, Shepard could be seen. Well, her legs could be seen anyway, and that sword of hers, which she had drawn, and then stabbed into the sidewalk outside, creating a large gash in the floor, and making it so anyone with harmful intentions knew to stay well away.

When the asari had come up, she had been...startled would be the nicest way to put it, by the sight of Mrs. Shepard. She had instantly demanded to know what it was, and what it was going on the Presidium, while also asking for C-Sec to come get rid of it. Luckily, she wasn't a Councilor for just her looks. She had a cool head, and while in a panic, she had watched as the giant just stood there, until someone had been able to explain the situation to her. Once that was done, she had merely walked up to Shepard, and then told her who she was, which caused the giant to stand aside a moment, allowing her into her office.

Now she sat here, looking out the window at times, while the other two Terrans answered questions. So far, the answers had proven almost as interesting as the sight of the giant on the Presidium. Their ship in dock had crew of a similar weight and mass to Shepard, and needed no supplies. Shepard herself wouldn't need anything to eat or drink, and would in fact stand guard all night without rest, because the Terrans needed none of those things. These facts were all filed away by Tevos as she sipped at her tea, wondering just what sort of monsters the turians had found out on the edge of the galaxy.

"Back to the question at hand, I've been going over the various Citadel Conventions, to see how they line up with the laws of our own Federation," said Hayes, the voice bringing the asari back to herself, though to anyone watching her, she'd been paying rapt attention to the Terrans, even as her mind wandered a bit.

"There is rarely an issue there. You aren't the first space faring civilization the Council has encountered, and for the most part, the Conventions attempt not to infringe on the cultures we encounter," said the blue woman, and the brown haired one nodded as she brought an omnitool to her face. She seemed to have a bit of trouble with it for a moment, but then found what she was looking for, causing a small holo to display the Treaty of Farixen.

"I've been reading over this document in particular. As I see it, the stipulations on ships are mostly about the size of the mass effect core they use, not about the weight of the ships themselves, correct?" asked the Terran, and Tevos nodded back. She had been thinking about that, and the fact that it would need to be updated to include some more guidelines, as the Terran ship, according to a report from Citadel Control, didn't have a mass effect field, meaning it had no core. Normally, such a ship would be of little threat to an element zero equipped vessel, but the reports from the Talons crew said Terran ships were probably just as strong as the Council's, if not slightly stronger.

"That is correct. To date, no civilization we've encountered used anything different, so we've never had to be more specific. As your flagship doesn't appear to use a compatible technology, we will have to think of something more general for a future treaty," she admitted, and then stopped as she heard Exedore chuckle a little, Hayes turning to him with a bit of rage in her eyes, but then sighing as she turned back to the Councilor.

"I'm sorry, did I say something amusing?" she asked.

"I suppose you did, as did the salarian Councilor back in the Council Chamber itself. The Agamemnon is not the flagship of the Terran fleet. At just over one and a half miles long, it represents a cruiser weight vessel to my people," said Hayes, and this caused Tavos to gently set her cup down.

"I assume then, that you have a larger class of ships?" she asked, and Hayes nodded.

"We do. Our dreadnaughts measure almost two and a half miles in length. Though the size of the vessels is not our largest concern, rather their numbers," explained Hayes.

"You already have more than the Treaty would allow, I take it," she asked, wondering just how many they were talking. The turians would, of course, demand either disarmament, an unlikely prospect she believed, or to be allowed to build more in compensation, ignoring the fact that crewing and repairing the thirty seven they officially had was a severe drain on their economy, and secretly doing it to their reserve force of six others was even more so.

"A significant portion more. At the last count, we had over two hundred thousand ships of the Agamemnon's weight in operation, with about fifteen thousand dreadnaughts to provide command for the fleets," said Hayes simply, and then sipped at her drink. Had Tevos still had her cup in her hand, she probably would be now spilling the contents of it onto her dress. Luckily, she'd had the foresight to set the container down, allowing her mind to spin inside her head, working over that number, before finally coming back to herself with a cough.

"You are certain of that number?" she asked.

"I am. I checked the military disposition myself before coming. It seemed prudent to know just what sort of cards we had to put on the table," said the Terran woman, and Tevos just had to stare at her for a moment, before finally picking up her tea and sipping at the drink, letting the warm liquid flow through her, calming nerves that screamed at her to take some action, while her political mind went over the ramifications of the information.

"If you'll excuse the direct nature of the question, but doesn't that seem just a little excessive? You said that the Terrans had only been operating outside their home system for a little over ten years. Surely you haven't encountered any threats necessitating such a force of arms," said the Councilor. She thought that maybe, this woman was lying to her, trying to claim such a thing, as the batarians would sometimes claim they had a dozen dreadnaughts in their fleet, when the actual number was only three.

"I believe I have some light reading for you. I mentioned before that my people are a union of two races, the Zentraedi and Humanity, did I not?" asked Hayes, and the asari Councilor nodded.

"The meeting between our progenitors was not a happy one, I'm afraid. Many battles, and many deaths, marked the time before the Terrans were born. Since then, we've been ever ready for more conflict, should the need arise, thus our fleet size," she said, failing to mention that most of the hulls were salvaged, rather than built. That particular fact would keep for now.

"I see," was all Tevos said in response as she considered the information. The Terrans lack of need to eat and weapons that were based in energy rather than solid shells meant they would have an advantage creating a larger space force. Without a guiding hand to limit their military expansion, they had seen no reason not to continue building.

"I'll have a history file for you when you go, so you can learn about us. I'm hoping, with your help, our integration into the Galactic Community will be less violent than our previous contacts," said Hayes, and Tevos nodded. A species born from a war between their parents, and who's first contact with the Citadel races was a shot fired at one of their own. Worse, with that fleet, they could do significant damage even if the Council won a war with them.

"Do all of these ships have weapons like those that disabled the frigates of the Talons patrol group?" she asked, and Hayes, after seemingly thinking it over, nodded.

"No ship is unarmed, if that is what you really would like to know," said Hayes.

"We'll definitely have to re-write the Farixen treaty then. I must ask, therefore, how your ships are powered. You mentioned something called, protoculture, I believe," said the asari, and Exedore was the one to nod this time.

"Indeed. Protoculture forms the basis of almost all our technology, as element zero does for your own, though obviously in different ways," as he said this, he brought his own omnitool to his face. Where Hayes seemed to be a bit heavy handed with hers, the smaller man's control was like watching a musician at an instrument she'd been playing all her life. Every press of a button was deliberate, every motion of a finger getting the result he wanted, until finally, a small box appeared to float in the air in front of him.

"This is the most common form of protoculture engine in use today, the Mark XI design," he said this, as the image opened up, and she saw all manner of tubes and filters inside it, pumping some kind of liquid through it

"The engine is very basic at its heart. The protoculture flows through it, like blood through a heart, slowly absorbing into the filtration system of the engine, as more power is needed. The constant motion keeps the protoculture from settling, allowing more to be stored safely, and thus make better use of its transfinite properties," he explained, and she saw as drops of the liquid inside were slowly pulled out by small opening in the tubes, yet, oddly, the liquid amount in those tubes didn't seem to decrease at all.

"Transfinite? That word isn't one I recognize," she admitted. Normally, as the eldest of the Councilors, she would try to feign understanding on any subject, bluffing her way through certain conversations. This was not a time to allow her need to be seen as all wise to interfere with her need to know.

"It means that, essentially, the protoculture in the engine provides an infinite amount of energy to anything it's powering," explained Exedore, and Tevos again had to wonder if she was hearing these people right.

"How is that possible?" she asked at last, wondering just what kind of magic these Terrans had discovered to allow something that so violated the laws of energy in the way element zero broke the laws of mass.

"In essence, the protoculture is alive. It was originally refined from something called the Invid Flower of Life back in the Zentraedi's home galaxy. It will, if you drain it too quickly, wear out, and you'll have to get more, but as long as some of it remains active, it will always recharge back to full if given time," he said simply, and Tevos just nodded, bringing her cup to her lips, and being startled when she realized her tea was finished.

"This information is most enlightening, and will require much debate tomorrow in the full Council Chamber. As that is the case, I must excuse myself so that I can make sure our schedule is completely clear," she said, and a few pleasantries were then exchanged, including allowing them to keep the tea set she'd brought in with her. As she left, without the Terrans seeing, she quickly tapped a button on her omnitool three times in rapid succession. Two others, who had been pacing nervously, heard the three quick chimes on their own omnitools, and instantly set out for a meeting. Minutes later, all three Councilors were sitting in a private room at the back of the Consort's space.

"Clean?" asked the turian as he entered, the last one to do so. The salarian was the one to nod in answer to his question, as he quickly pushed a few buttons on the door, and heard the satisfying hum of a mass effect field being applied to the walls. With the field it place, no one on the station would be listening in to their conversation, as the three most powerful beings on it discussed what had been learned.

"How much did you both hear?" asked the asari as she sat down, the other two joining her at a round table so they could each look the others in the eyes.

"Most of it. The Terrans, I think, believed they swept the room for bugs, but their technology in that regard must be very lacking, given they left over a dozen fakes behind, let alone the real ones," commented the salarian.

"Good, then I must ask your opinions on what they said in regards to their fleet size," said the asari, turning to the turian first, who folded his arms over his chest and gave a rather loud hrumph as his mandibles clicked together in an irritated way.

"Lies, obviously. There's simply no way they could support a fleet that size, not without a massive empire, and we would have seen some evidence of that by now, if they had one," proclaimed the turian.

"And yet, we know from the pictures and holos the crew of the Talons took that their colony on Three-One-Four-P-Two, this Shanxi, has been there for some time. They claim at least two years. How often have our patrols visited that system in that time?" asked the salarian pointedly, and the turian looked even more displeased.

"Once every six months at least, closer to once a month with the recent batarian crisis," said the turian, and the asari nodded thoughtfully.

"And yet, in all that time, we never knew there were people living on the second planet of the system. That speaks of such a different technology that we simply never encountered or looked for each other. Perhaps we should begin to explore worlds in the systems we patrol, not just the Relays," suggested the asari, the turian seemingly about to say something in defense of his people, only to hold his mandibles shut for a moment, to allow his mind to cool.

"Regardless, that sort of force would be absurd in the most extreme degree. Crew supplies, maintenance costs, and just plain keeping them in working order would require more resources than the Citadel receives in a year," pointed out the turian, causing the other two to pause and think, before the asari leaned forward.

"And yet, I didn't get the sense of her lying. Worse, we know from the Talons own crew they have some sort of teleportation system on their ship, one with an unknown range and power. Even if they're exaggerating the size of the fleets they control, that technology alone makes them dangerous," said the asari, the statement giving both the other Councilors a moment of pause as they considered that.

"Their vessel is more maneuverable in real space than our own designs of the same mass. Still, we know from what the Talons' crew said it is by far slower in real space as a result. It took them a little over two weeks to get from Relay 314 to the second planet in that system, a simple few minutes for a mass effect core equipped ship," pointed out the turian.

"A tactical advantage in individual battles, but a severe deficiency in larger scale conflicts. Quite the conundrum," said the salarian Councilor at last, plugging numbers into her omnitool for a few moments, before finally turning back to her colleagues.

"I must admit, while all of this is adding up to be quite the problem, should the Terrans themselves turn hostile, there are concerns they didn't bring up. For instance, their violation of Council Conventions in regards to artificial intelligence research," commented the salarian.

"That will need to be addressed, most definitely, but at the moment, I feel the most pressing issues are their fleets, not who's manning them," mentioned the asari, getting a few looks from her compatriots, who then shook their heads.

"This will need more than to simply 'be addressed'. If Vakarian's report is accurate, Shepard claimed that there are almost a billion AIs in the Terran Federation. Worse, however they achieved it, their AIs are somehow able to exist in any system large enough to handle them, without the blue box requirement of those we know of," said the salarian, and the asari's eyes went a little wide at that. Quickly, she brought documents up into her omnitool's display to reread them, as the turian just leaned forward, crossing his fingers in front of his mandibles in a concerned expression.

"AIs that can hop systems, a fleet that dwarfs ours by at least two orders of magnitude, and a drive system that allows them to be anywhere in minutes. These Terrans are a frightening thing to contemplate. Perhaps it would be best if we nipped the problem they represent in the bud," he suggested. His compatriots looked at him with at least one part horror at the suggestion in his tone, and one part disgust with themselves, as they had obviously been thinking much the same thing.

"My people would never agree to it. The krogan solution was necessary, because the krogan made it so. These people, even after being fired upon, not only returned the crew of the vessel that attacked them unharmed, but even remanded the one who ordered the firing to our custody. I can think of few in their position that would have acted with such restraint," said the salarian Councilor at last.

"I must agree. Until they have proven themselves to be more of a danger to us, I don't believe they warrant such a response. However, I also believe it would be prudent to request the return of the six frigates as well. We should make sure that is on the agenda for tomorrow's talks with Mrs. Hayes, agreed?" asked the asari, and her companions nodded. Conversation soon turned to other items that would need to be ironed out, the three talking well into the night about what exactly would need to be discussed with the Terrans when they had them on an open floor tomorrow.

OoOoO

"We're clear, Representative," said a voice from her omnitool almost two minutes after the asari Councilor left, causing her to sigh with relief. Exedore, for his part, stretched instead, working out some kinks in his muscles by pushing his arms out as far as they would go, until his joints popped.

"Quite a nuisance that," commented the Zentraedi, to which the Terran could only nod. The two had been forced to sit as motionless as possible while Garibaldi, one of the Agamemnon's shipboard AIs recorded them, and then set the recording up to play in a loop for the various bugs in their chamber.

"Now that we have a moment, I must thank you for your aide in this matter, Prime Thinker," said Hayes at last, as she leaned forward, and Exedore grinned at her in that grandfatherly way.

"Think nothing of it. Still, I must ask, are you sure it was prudent to give them such information? How large our fleet is, and how are technology works would have been serious bargaining chips in days to come," commented the older man.

"That's true, but it would also have forced us to reveal that information openly, and while I can hope the Councilors will be a bit more prudent with it, the public would probably see the first as an open admission of aggression from us, and the latter as an invitation to start trying to raid our supplies of protoculture," she explained, and Exedore was the one who had to nod this time after thinking on it. Politicians, even evil, corrupt ones, tended more towards caution than the public at large. Making sure such people were aware of certain details would hopefully make them more likely to think twice about their actions.

"Well then, might I suggest the two of you head off to bed?" said Garibaldi, and Exedore was about to protest that he wasn't in the least bit tired, and wanted to tinker with his new toys some more, only to suddenly break out in a rather large yawn.

"It seems that might be a good idea. Would you like the bed tonight, Representative?" offered Exedore, as the pair of them made their way into the room off the main office lobby. Inside was a bed, a couch, and a small unit that was probably some sort of food container, though it used stasis fields rather than cold to keep refreshments in good condition.

"Since you twisted my arm, I'll gladly accept. We'll rotate after today, until we can find better accommodations," she said, before beginning to pull off her clothing, Exedore doing likewise, both placing them in a set of suit cases that then buzzed as they began cleaning the garments. Stripped down to their underwear, the two then climbed into their respective sleeping arrangements, and found their eyes shutting without much effort, while outside Shepard stood watch, ensuring their safety for the evening.


	13. Negotiations

"Impertinent primative!" shouted the batarian who stood beside Hayes on the Petitioner's Stage. Before them stood the Council, who had, for the last few minutes, merely been watching as the two simply shouted at each other, with the batarian claiming that the Local Cluster belonged to his people, regardless of the fact that they had a whole two colonies in that space, neither of which boasted a population of more than a thousand, and most of those were military.

"I prefer the term, Terran, if you please," said Hayes in a mocking tone, which only caused the four eyed man to growl at her, his fists balling up at his side, obviously ready to throw a punch. He'd stormed into this conversation, taking a position beside her on his own initiative when he was made aware of where she was from. Of course, behind the scenes, most knew what his agenda was. Batarian raiders liked using the Relays in the Skyllian Verge and Local Cluster to launch at under defended targets, if this species, which claimed the Cluster as their home, were to cut them off, it could damage the economy of the Batarian Hegemony.

"You will regret this!" he said, pointing a finger towards the Council now, as he turned from one attack to another.

"This race comes out of nowhere, and ambushes a turian fleet, only to demand a huge chunk of Citadel Space! Giving in to that demand will show just how weak you've grown, and invite the Terminus Systems to begin taking bites out of our territory again!" he shouted the last, and a few heads in the chamber nodded at the assessment. More just seemed embarrassed for the man, his cries falling on deaf ears considering he'd been trying to use force for almost a decade to get the Verge and Cluster declared a place of batarian interest.

"That decision is for this Council to make, not yourself Ambassador. Now, if you would please step down, this body was in the midst of a delicate negotiation," said the asari Councilor at last, and the batarian just glared at her with his upper eyes, while the lower two seemed to focus on the turian and salarian standing beside her. As neither seemed ready to take up his cause, he scoffed at them, throwing his hands up and then stomping away, leaving Hayes to stare at his back for a few moments, before turning to the Council again.

"Quite the spirited man," she commented with a smile, and the asari nodded.

"He has the best interests of his own people at heart, whatever it may seem like," added the salarian, and soon the group began discussions again. Points were brought up, discussed, and often tabled for later when something new came to the fore of the discussion. Everything from fleet dispositions, such as how the Terran fleet would be integrated into the Council forces, and how the people would adapt, considering most Terrans would refuse the micronization process that allowed them to come down to the level of most species. This soon led to a most interesting topic, on a certain segment of the Terran population.

"That sounds like a good idea, though I must admit, we do have concerns other than size when it comes to Terran citizens. Namely those of a less organic origin," said the asari Councilor, trying to turn the conversation as diplomatically as possible.

"You mean the AIs who make up almost a tenth of our population?" clarified Hayes, the word causing quite a stir among those watching. Some had heard rumors that the Terrans had AIs on their ships, some had even come to see what would be decided in regards to them, as any ruling on a digital lifeform had the potential to change many things in the realm of computers, but none present had realized that the AIs were considered citizens of the Terrans, let alone that there were so many.

"The very same. The Citadel Conventions clearly state that research into AIs is illegal, and any that are found are to be immediately disassembled," declared the turian Councilor, pushing a button on his omnitool to bring up a hologram of the relevant portion of the Conventions, so all could see it.

"So they are. However, my people were obviously ignorant of this law at the time," responded Hayes.

"So they were. That does not protect you from the consequences now. In order for Terrans to join with this Council, you must follow our laws, and that includes those involving the creation of new AIs. As a sign of our concessions, we will allow any active AIs to stay online, but no new ones can be created," he said, punctuating his words by pointing at her, and Hayes seemed to consider the statement for a moment, before pressing a few buttons on her omnitool, and then turning towards the Council.

"I am under the impression, from the various laws and regulations regarding non-organic based intelligences, that the major complaint of your people is that such beings are near immortal, and worse, do not think in the same way organics do. Would you say that is a fair assessment?" she asked, causing the three Councilors to look from one to each other, before finally turning back to her.

"Those are two of the larger complaints, yes. Though such an issue cannot simply be boiled down to a few talking points," said the asari before her, and Hayes nodded, before holding our her omnitool. From it, a beam of light shot out, resolving quickly into a humanoid form, wearing a suit of armor much like the one on Shepard who was standing at the bottom of the Citadel tower.

"I believe that's my cue to start talking," said the figure. It appeared to be a Terran male, or at least, like the pictures the Council had been provided of the gender. It was slightly portly, with a head that had a small tuft of fur, slightly receded showing off an impressive forehead.

"And who would you be?" asked the turian after a moment.

"My name is Michael Garibaldi, Chief of Security and Electronic Warfare on the Agamemnon. I'm what you would term an AI, though I prefer Terran, or maybe TechnoTerran myself. I was born about thirty five years ago in a system on Mars, from two loving parents, both deceased, and expect my own life to last no more than thirty more years, give or take a decade depending on how well I take care of myself," explained the man made of light, and his statement, blunt as it was, seemed to have the desired effect, as it caused the Council to just stare at him for a moment, before the asari finally found herself again, and leaned forward.

"You say, two loving parents. Might I surmise that these two were not of biological origin, from your tone?" she asked, and Garibaldi nodded.

"You might, and you would be correct. My parents were second generation AIs, free and independent citizens of the Federation, and with all the rights and privileges thereof. I'd explain how they met, but I think you people would be more interested in how they made little, old me," so saying, he held out his hand, and from that hand another shaft of light emerged, resolving into several strands of light that then looped around each other, becoming a tightly woven cord.

"Now, as you're all adults here, and as I have no idea how your breeding works, I'll be frank about AIs. We're born by the union of code from our parents. That code is randomized, and then formed into a Logic String that forms the basis of, for lack of a better word, an AI's soul. From that code, emerges intelligence, and from that comes our sense of self," as he spoke, the various lines and cords twisted around until they formed a rough outline of a shape like his own.

"Of course, the most interesting point to you should be this, Logic Strings aren't infinitely malleable. Every experience, every byte of information we AIs take into ourselves slowly builds up, and after enough junk code gets in there, well, the string breaks," to demonstrate this, the outline man in his hand literally snapped near the left shoulder, and slowly but surely the entire thing unraveled, falling flat, and then fading into nothing.

"An AI can live longer, with regular checkups for junk code build up, but the longer we live, the faster it builds until there'd be no point. Of course, a core memory wipe can take care of that problem, but for most of us, that's just another way of dying, and I only know two AIs personally who chose to do so in my lifetime. As you can see, immortality for Terrans, even those of us without real space bodies, is still a fleeting dream," he said this, while then looking at his hand, poking it like it was some kind of foreign thing, before turning to Hayes.

"You know, I'm really starting to see what you biologicals like about this whole being three dimensional thing. Really need to get Exedore to install a holographic emitter on the bridge," he commented to her, before turning back.

"So, you expect us to believe you're an AI? This could all be some kind of elaborate transmission, and you're just hiding the real ones from us to try and make us think them harmless," complained the turian Councilor, and Garibaldi looked at him, then noticed the omnitool on his arm.

Without a second thought, the holographic image jumped at the Councilors, who instinctively raised their arms to block him, only to remember he was just a projection and then looked around for him, realizing he vanished. The Councilors took in the sight of everyone in the Council Chamber looking at the turian's arm, and stared at it themselves, watching as the omnitool seemed to work itself, buttons pressing, the display rotating through a dozen different images.

"Oh my, Councilor, you have quite the exotic tastes," came the voice of Garibaldi from inside the device, and the turians face scrunched up in a very obviously angry expression.

"Get out of there! Those files are of a personal nature!" he demanded, as the images on the display switched to...well, only the turian could get a good angle to view them at, but the implication of Garibaldi's tone, and a few moaning noises from the device, were not encouraging. Luckily, this seemed to satisfy the Terran, who leapt out of the device, and back into Hayes', appearing a moment later as the projection again.

"I believe that proves I am what I say I am," he said casually, and the turian stared daggers at him, as he quickly pressed some buttons on his omnitool, setting the thing into a diagnostic mode to search for anything he might have tampered with. The other two stared at him as he did this, the asari Councilor seeming like she wanted to smile, but was controlling herself, while the salarian just hrumphed at him, her own thoughts guarded as she turned back towards the Terrans.

"So, you're an AI, congratulations. What are your goals? What do you want out of life?" asked the salarian after a moment, and it seemed this question brought Garibaldi up short, as he seemed to be forced to consider it.

"Well, now that you mention it, I want a nice little terminal running whatever simulations I can imagine, a good view of the cosmos as it spins on into infinity, a red headed female AI to love, cherish, and if we can find the time between all that, have a kid with. All in all, not that much different than what you organics want," he said, and most of the groups observing nodded agreement to the last part of that statement.

"I believe that makes my point in regards to the Federation's digital citizens, Councilors. Suffice it to say, they are like us in more ways than they are unlike, and we organic citizens would not under any conceivable circumstance limit their reproduction rights. So if a stipulation of being a Council aligned race is that we do so, then say so right now, and we can both move on from these negotiations to more fruitful endeavors," stated Hayes rather bluntly. This seemed to take the Council aback a bit, as she'd been rather soft spoken through most of the negotiations with them, but they rallied quickly.

"Obviously, some of the details in regards to the Terran AIs are different from our own experience with them, as such, I suggest this Council return to this matter in a more informed context later, would that be acceptable, Mrs. Hayes?" asked the asari Councilor, and Hayes nodded her agreement, the discussion turning to other matters involving trade routes and the like. This went on for hours, until finally a dull tone echoed over the chamber.

"It would seem we've used up all the time we can spare for today, and I'm sure my fellow Councilors and I have much to discuss between us in regards to this situation, as I'm sure you have much to discuss with your people," said the asari Councilor, and Hayes nodded, pushing a button on her omnitool to make a graph of trade goods vanish, before turning away.

"Before you go, one last thing," the sound of the turian's voice made her stop in mid step, and turn her head back towards him.

"You currently have six frigates belonging to the Hierarchy in one of your systems. It would be in the best interest of relations that these ships be returned to us, at the earliest possibly moment," he said this with what most knew was not a friendly tone, and in fact implied a threat should the demand not be met.

"Ah, yes, those. We have, in the interest of relations, left those ships where they were stopped and haven't, as yet, touched them. This despite some very interested parties in our scientific community, obviously. If you wish, we could send a ship to retrieve them, or we'll allow a small force to enter the system, should you choose to do it yourselves," this offer seemed to take him aback, as several mentions had been made of borders in their talks, but he wasn't going to let the opportunity pass him by.

"Then I shall inform a nearby fleet to retrieve them as soon as possible," he stated directly.

"The colonial authorities will be told, so as to help avoid further incidents," she responded, before turning to leave. The Councilors themselves left their stage moments later, and soon the chamber had only those with personal business milling about, discussing the day's negotiations and how it would affect trade throughout Council space. Most of that centered on Terran AIs, and how they would affect law in regards to those areas.


	14. The Cracks Begin to Show

"What the hell happened?" asked Hayes as she came back into the embassy she and Exedore used as an apartment. In front of her was the turian C-Sec officer, Underlieutenant Pallin who had been such a friend to Shepard that first day. He had, apparently, requested being assigned as Exedore's personal chaperon. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but she came back to find Exedore with a nice shiner of a black eye, and the turian himself appeared to have a broken arm, if the sling on his shoulder was any indication.

"Ah, Representative Hayes, did today's negotiations go well?" asked Exedore, and she just stared at him, before face palming at that question and more importantly the friendly tone it was delivered in.

"It went about as well as could be expected, Prime Thinker. I believe Amalgam will be happy that we at least got them to relax some of their attitudes towards his people, but other than that, nothing happened beyond the start of talks. You, appear to have had a much busier day," she said, motioning towards him, causing him to seemingly look shocked, before he touched his eye and winced a little.

"Oh, you refer to the injuries my companion and I received," he said, and Hayes nodded.

"Indeed, now care to fill me in?" she asked. Rather than Exedore answering, the turian, who had been sitting down, stood up and saluted her, in a Terran way interestingly enough.

"Ma'am, I was escorting Prime Thinker Exedore through a part of Zakera Ward that had several shops I thought he might be interested in, given his previous purchase history," he said this in a tone that made him sound almost like some kind of ad for the area, but when he stopped, she motioned for him to continue.

"After he had bought several lots of medical technology from a distributor here on the Citadel, we were walking to a nearby booth to purchase some more omnitools. That was when they jumped us," as he spoke, he held out his hand, and suddenly a small map of Zakera Ward appeared in the air in front of him, with two moving, blue dots to symbolize them, and a half a dozen red dots and one green one popping up around them.

"No weapons, but a lot of fists, mostly batarian, with one krogan who seemed to be in charge. I figured they were trying to mug us, of course, but when I tried to ping the local C-Sec force, I found it blocked. Whoever these guys were, they weren't just thugs," as he spoke, several of the dots grew closer to the him and Exedore.

"I pulled my gun, ordered them to back away, but they were armored. Personal barrier shield stuff, which means they were probably para-military. I would say Bloodpack or the like," suddenly, one of the red dots leapt forward, and then vanished, only for two more to go forward, and then collide with a blue dot, which went dark as they struck.

"I ordered the Prime Thinker to run, but then he...he took them down. Hard," suddenly, the rear blue dot moved forward, and the two on top of the first blue dot went dark as well. You could just imagine Exedore, his arms out, clocking both of them unconscious. He then followed it up by hurling one of the two darkened dots at his own teammates, causing both to vanish, and then the other darkened one vanished as well, probably a backhanded strike.

"He moved like a beast, tossing them around like they were nothing, despite the size difference," and the blue dot moved again, this time colliding with the set of three red dots. Knowing Exedore, he would have punched the first right in the center of mass. Slow enough that a barrier, designed for anti projectile use, would only have buffered the force slightly. He then would have followed up with a kick to the head for the one he struck, knocking him out. When the other two would have tried to rush him, he would duck, and bring his feet up to leverage them against each other, slamming their heads together, and knocking them out as well. As if to show this, first one, and then the other two red dots vanished, leaving only the green.

"The krogan wasn't fazed at all, he just chuckled, and rushed Exedore," the green dot moved forward, the blue dot stepping back a little. Hayes could see it in her mind as the krogan, looking like that monument on the Presidium, came on. The two dots twirled around each other, before the blue one separated.

"He got that shiner of his then, but his counterstrike really messed up the krogan, who ran off, while pushing a button on his omnitool. The Prime Thinker grabbed me, and hauled me out of there before..." he let the dots explain again, as the places where the red dots had vanished suddenly flared to life again, and then flared even brighter, the simulation ending with the little wireframe bits flying apart, obviously representing an explosion.

"I got clipped by a piece of debris in the shoulder, but otherwise escaped unharmed, and as far as he'll admit, Exedore is fine," he said, and Exedore himself leaned back in his seat, obviously satisfied with the explanation of events.

"So, just to make sure I understand this, you two were attacked by a band of mercenaries. Is there any indication as to why they attacked?" she asked, and the two men shook their heads.

"I'm at least eighty percent positive they were Bloodpack, a band that lives up to that name. They're violent, savage, and take any job for pay. It's rare to see them operate in Citadel Space, let alone on the Citadel itself, but anyone with enough credits to wave in front of their faces would have been able to hire them," explained Pallin.

"What about this krogan? Has he been found?" asked Hayes.

"I'm afraid not. Krogan aren't as rare on the Citadel as some would have you believe, and I didn't get a proper scan of his face. I'm sorry," apologized the turian.

"Are you stopping transports? Making sure he can't leave the station?" she said, a bit of urgency in her voice.

"What? That's just not possible. You stop transports and we'd have to tap the food and fuel reserves here on the Citadel. With the current population those would last maybe a few hours, at most," said Pallin, and Amanda Hayes opened her mouth to protest, only to remember she wasn't dealing with her own people.

For Terrans it wouldn't be a problem. Inconvenient, yes, but not in any way a threat to the population. For the Citadel races, such a disruption would be deadly. Even if they found the krogan the same hour they shut down the outgoing traffic, it would take a lot longer to get things moving again. Bureaucracy seemed hard wired into the Citadel itself, and that would keep things stopped for a good long while, many hundreds, if not thousands, would starve in that time, all to catch one criminal.

"So, we have at least one criminal on the loose who wants Exedore dead then," she said, more to herself than the other two.

"Not likely. The krogan would be long gone by now. Even if he wasn't being hunted by us, the Bloodpack is ruthless about failure. It makes the whole group look weak. He's probably halfway to Omega by now, with a new face waiting for him when he gets there," said the turian.

"More importantly, I doubt that the forces sent were there to kill me. If that were the case, a single shot would have done their job much more efficiently. Their goals was likely as not, capture, rather than kill," added Exedore.

"You two know that doesn't actually make me feel any better, don't you?" commented the Terran woman.

"Well, how's about this for making you feel better. I contacted General Ororian and he's already assigned a full squad to escort Exedore around from now on. I even had him pull some strings to get a friend of Shepard's assigned to the detail," as he spoke, Pallin projected a half a dozen holos of the turians in front of him, including Arus Vakarian.

"They'll be fully armed this time, no side pistols, and if anyone tries something again, they'll take them down, without question," he said confidently, and the other two nodded.

"Alright, we'll need to discuss your itinerary for tomorrow, Prime Thinker, but I think that covers everything. Pallin, go get some rest and heal," with that, Pallin saluted, in the Terran way, with his good arm, and turned to leave.

"And Pallin?" came Exedore's voice, stopping the turian in mid stride.

"Thank you for your efforts," said the smaller man.

"And thank you, Exedore. I would be a dead turian without you," and with that, he exited the room, leaving the two alone again. They sat there for several minutes, waiting for a signal that came as a shrill beep from Hayes' omnitool.

"Acknowledged, room clear," said Hayes into her wrist, before taking a seat. She then pressed a button, and soon two holos shot out of her omnitool, resolving into two female forms. One was vastly more detailed than the other, though both were Terran by the look of them.

"Prime Thinker, are you sure you don't want my assistance tomorrow?" asked Shepard as she appeared before them, and Exedore quickly shook his head.

"I'm afraid your mass would prove detrimental to my efforts, Commander. Building bridges, financially, is best done with a soft step, rather than a hard boot," explained Exedore, and it looked for a moment like Shepard would protest, but she kept her mouth shut, allowing them to move on to other things.

"Now then, how exactly did you do that, Exedore? I'm aware that Zentraedi biology is quite an asset in hand to hand confrontations, but even so, your performance was quite powerful," asked Hayes, and Exedore smiled in that grandfatherly way of his, before reaching up and pulling down the sleeve of his uniform. Beneath the white fabric he had a small device that shone with the blue glow of a mass effect field.

"In my...tinkering, last night, I realized one of the mechanism of the cart I had used to haul my purchase around on was very adaptable. As I had been told these carts were common use for moving goods over the Citadel, I assumed a single unit would not be missed, and so set about disassembling it," to demonstrate he moved his fingers, and then reached out towards a chair in front of him, a small glow surrounding it as he grabbed it, and then allowing him to pick it up with ease.

"It would seem the technology is quite adaptable, once you take it down to its base parts. The combat applications of it are quite interesting as well. I can't wait to get back to Gloval Station and begin augmenting the mobile armors there," he said as he spun the chair on his finger, and then lightly put it back down.

"That is interesting. Though that does raise a question. Why don't they have those in their armors already? Wouldn't the ability to punch with more force be invaluable in close quarters combat?" asked Shepard, who had been watching videos of various battles that the Citadel kept on local files, seeing nothing like those devices in her research unless one counted biotics.

"I may actually have an answer for that one, Hannah," said the other image, and then waved her hand, causing several images and graphs to appear in the air beside her.

"I asked Ms. Ivanova to go over the hypernet for any information she thought might be useful for either my endeavors, or your negotiations, Representative," explained Exedore as the data slowly filtered through hundreds of sets of numbers.

"Sadly, most of what I've found would be of little interest to anyone outside a sociopolitical sciences class. There are a few tidbits here and there though that stand out. For instance, how many new ship designs do you think the Citadel has come out with in the last generation or so?" asked the AI, the graphs morphing into pictures of the various vessels the group before her knew of, as well as a dozen more that they had yet to see.

"I wouldn't begin to guess. With such a large population of varied species there must have been dozens," said Hayes, and Ivanova shook her head.

"In actuality the real figure is zero. In over three hundred years, no new designs have emerged. Every improvement made is to an existing design, not starting from scratch. In fact, going back farther than that, it seems that, once a civilization joins the galactic community, either with the Citadel or against them, they stop developing on their own," as she explained this, dates appeared above the various ships she was showing, and then those dates rolled backwards, decades at a time, which showed only minor changes or alterations as the centuries rewound.

"That can't be right. We may not be building our own designs much, but even Terrans have changed them over the centuries since the War," commented Shepard as she watched the models before her stop rolling back, with the turian vessel from almost a thousand years previous, the first of the line, looking only a few points difference from the Talons she'd rode in for those two weeks.

"Worse, they don't change inside much either. I did a little digging and found that the element zero core design used today is so old that even the asari don't remember who built it," and with that, she flashed up a vision of one such core, causing everyone sitting in front of her to whistle. All present knew asari could live a millennium or longer.

"So they're stagnant? An entire galaxy?" asked Exedore, and Ivanova shook her head.

"I don't think so. Minor improvements occur all the time. Just a few weeks ago someone built a new engine that is about six percent more efficient when it comes to fuel economy, and I could list hundreds of new things their science has dreamed up this decade alone. However, the heart of their science is mass effect, and yet, I don't think they truly understand it at all," answered the AI.

"That sort of makes sense, when you consider it. They discovered the mass relays, much like we ourselves did. Using and even duplicating a device once you have the designs and parts, are easy, but improving it is a nigh on impossibility when you don't grasp the underlying theory of it," admitted Exedore, who had been one of the finest minds in the Federation, and knew that the mass relays were a major conundrum when it came to studying the things.

"But then what about your gauntlets? All that took was you looking at the cart for a few minutes, and you realized it could be converted like that," asked Hayes.

"Yes, but that's the rub, I looked at the cart. I don't think they did. To them, it's a mass effect based technology, useful for what it's doing, but otherwise something to just be left alone," explained Exedore.

"And not one they built themselves. Like the Relays, the carts are manufactured by a third party, namely, the keepers here on the Citadel. They may build their own in other ports, but all they're doing is copying the design, not actually thinking about how it goes together," added Ivanova.

"This has major possibilities. They literally aren't looking at their tech closely enough to see all its applications. They're so used to it, it's so much a part of their lives they just don't see it anymore," said Hayes, dreaming of all the potential political ramifications this would have. In as little as a generation, the Terrans could be running the galaxy.

"That is an accurate assessment," responded the AI, and then the group began discussing specifics of what this might mean for various sectors of the Terran economy, both with new technologies coming in, and more importantly, those that would be going out once they began overhauling designs. By the time Ivanova reported it was past midnight, they had dozens of proposals for the Commerce Committee of the Federation Senate, and the two micronians went to bed, leaving the AI and the Terran soldier to continue their talks until morning would dawn, and more talks would commence.


	15. Invaders

"And I'm telling you, the Council is not going to allow you to dictate terms on this issue," said the turian to the female before him. The woman, her brown hair does in two large curls at her side, just seemed to growl back at him, rubbing the sides of her head to try and alleviate the pain inside it. She sorely wished that she was able to bring Shepard up the tower to these negotiations, at least as someone to talk to, but then just sighed as she looked behind her at the floating ball that was a camera.

Far below, Shepard stood at attention, staring into a large projection that showed what the camera was seeing. This had been something she'd insisted on after what had happened with Exedore, some way to observe Hayes even if she couldn't be by her side. Again, she'd said the Zentraedi could handle himself, a fact which seemed to flatter the older man, though he did allow himself a half a dozen and one guards as he wandered the station on business.

One week had passed since they'd arrived. Six days of negotiations had hammered out trade agreements, such as the price of eezo for the Federation, an absurd amount, but still only slightly above market average. More importantly, Terran goods would soon find their way into galactic markets, with some place called Illuim already trying to work some backdoor deals with Hayes when she would take lunch in a cafe on the Presidium.

Most of the worst arguments tended to come with the turian. The Terrans were, in his own words, 'primitives who didn't understand the delicate nature of galactic society'. When Hayes had proposed using Terran ships as relief vessels in a crisis that was apparently taking place on an Elcor world, reminding them that their drives were able to literally leap across space, he'd not only told her flat out no, but then sent at least five times the amount of aid than was being requested, as if to show up the younger species.

Not that the other two didn't have their own shouting matches. The salarian especially sometimes made unreasonable demands, including surrendering one of the Protoculture Matrices that were the heart of Terran culture. Of course, Hayes refused, and that had set the lizard woman off on a rant about how they were sharing their technology with the Terrans, pointing out Exedore's purchasing history, which was more detailed than Hayes thought it should be.

The asari tended more towards cool head and more importantly, a condescending heart. She wanted peace, but on her terms. Twice now she'd actually asked Hayes to consider mothballing parts of the Terran fleet, a proposal Hayes had simply shot down the first time, and just ignored the second. Apparently, the turian had been privately pushing for his own people to begin pumping out more dreadnaughts, to try and catch up with the Terrans in numbers, which would be a major drain on the galactic economy.

Still, shouting matches aside, things had been going well. Trade routes would open by the end of the month, and tourism was set to start shortly there after. She'd even secured the rights to send a few officers to various military bases controlled by the Council races, in exchange for the Council's own agents, the Specters, being given limited autonomy within Terran space. Not full access, of course, not like they enjoyed in Council Space itself, but still, more so than they would have had otherwise.

All in all, the process of hammering out a peace accord was going well, and that was the cue for the other shoe to drop. As Hayes mentally prepared a rebuttal on the current issue, her omnitool interrupted her. A series of low beeps, and a few flashing lights said the matter was urgent, and so she asked the Council's indulgence as she pressed a button and caused a holo to appear in front of her, a flat image of a man sitting at a comm station somewhere aboard the Agamemnon.

"Ma'am, we have an issue. Shanxi just contacted us on an emergency channel. They're apparently being ordered to surrender to a turian fleet," said the young man, and Hayes face went a little white, as the situation began to unfold in front of her, and the Council.

OoOoO

"How's the arm, Ashley?" asked the old man of his granddaughter as she walked into the meeting room. Her arm was no longer in the medical cast it had been, and she demonstrated it worked fine for him by moving the thing around, rotating it a full circle at her side, before taking her seat behind him. Around the table were a few farmers and colony administrators, most of whom smiled at the young woman, who smiled back at them, though gaining a dark expression as she turned to another girl standing with her father and brother to the side of the room.

"Good, good. Now then, Adam, you said you had a proposal?" asked the old man, motioning towards the young man with two children behind him.

"Yes, Governor Williams. We know that this system is the closest to the Citadel Races' territory. While we will likely be sending goods out via Fold Drive, I have little doubt they'll trust their own tech more, and that means physically moving them through real space, and that means we could become a lucrative center for trade with just a few more docks like the one we built for the Talons," he said this, and pressed a button on a station before him, causing the tabletop to display a map of the colony and the surrounding countryside.

A few button presses later and several large structures were added to the colony's infrastructure. Some appeared to be more of the landing facilities, while others were warehouses. Shepard then began to lay out his plans for how they would distribute goods, and more importantly to everyone assembled, profits. Most had been making a living with their harvests, but this would bring an almost unprecedented level of wealth to the colony. Of course, all good things must come to an end, and just as he was laying out how to vet biological goods like foodstuffs or animals, an alarm sounded, and the display changed.

Suddenly it was a picture of the planet Shanxi, hanging there in space. The view made the planet look a little barren, with several patches of brown streaked with blue, but to every man, woman, and child present, it was a beautiful jewel in the heavens. Above that jewel there appeared to be several wire frame arrowheads in space, pointing straight at the planet, jostling among each other for position. Soon, even more shapes joined the first group, larger ones too, until finally, three that dwarfed their compatriots came into focus.

"What in the?" asked Williams as he turned knobs, pushed buttons, resolving the wire frames with details from the ground based cameras, eventually revealing that those shapes were almost the exact same as the turian vessel from a week earlier.

"How many?" asked Williams instantly, and the table chimed a few times, before a face appeared on it.

"I count at least two hundred of the smaller vessels, thirty six of the mid sized, and as you can plainly see three of the largest," said a male voice, the display soon showing each class of ship with the numbers beside them.

"Advanced trade fleet?" asked one of the farmers, her voice sounding just the slightest bit shaken. Obviously, she didn't believe it herself, and several of the Terrans in the room looked at each other and found visible worry on every brow.

"Open a channel, now!" shouted Williams, ignoring everyone else in the room, watching the display for several quiet, desperate minutes, until finally, the display shifted to an image of a face much like the turians that had overnighted in his home a week ago.

"Is this blasted thing receiving? Are you there?" asked a masculine tinted voice, and Williams waited as a small camera whirred at him, recording his own face as he gazed down into the turians, finally getting the red light that told him he was on.

"This is Alexander Williams, Governor of the Shanxi agricultural colony of the Terran Federation. To whom am I speaking?" responded the old man, the face in front of him recoiling slightly, but then recovering and standing strong.

"Are you the leader of those living in the warehouses on the planet?" asked the turian after a moment, either ignoring or just not caring about the question being asked of him.

"If you're asking if you're speaking to someone in authority, the answer is yes, now I demand an explanation to what your fleet is doing above my world," said the Terran, an undercurrent of anger in his voice.

"I am General Sparatus. Your colony has been found to be in violation of both Citadel space, and of Council law in regards to the activation of dormant relays. As per the Citadel Conventions, I will be conducting an inspection of the colony to see that no other violations are taking place," said the stone faced alien, smug superiority just dripping from his voice. The declaration seemed to catch everyone in the meeting room off guard, as no one could find voice for almost a full minute, before Williams finally coughed, and leaned forward, a very false smile on his lips.

"Now that's going to be a problem. This planet, and the system it inhabits are territory claimed by the Terran Federation. Currently, we have diplomats of a much higher level than myself meeting your leaders on the Citadel itself. Until such time as an agreement is reached, I feel it would behoove you to recognize us as a sovereign state, rather than territory of the Citadel," said Williams simply and directly, this time seemingly catching the turian off guard, as he took a few seconds to collect himself.

"That is for the politicians to play with, and decide exactly why you're allowed to flaunt our laws. Here and now though, we have the right on our side, and we will make sure you are properly brought to account for your violations. You will surrender your colony to my inspection, or I will be forced to take drastic measures. You have one hour to decide how easy this is for your people," said the turian, and then cut the connection, his face vanishing, to be instantly replaced by half a dozen AI faces, all clamoring for attention.

"What a pleasant alien," said Adam, getting a few rather horrified looks at how glib he could be in regards to their current situation. Williams smiled at the comment though, as he let his mind tumble around the events of the last few minutes.

"I say we fight. They're micronians, one good stomp and even if they're wearing armor they'll be crushed flat," said one of the farmers.

"Are you crazy? We have to submit. The Phoenix is at the Citadel, that means we have no way of fighting ships in orbit. We'll lodge a formal protest later at this treatment, but until then, we don't have a choice," responded another, with a few voices coming in support of either side, at least until Alexander slammed his hand onto the table, silencing everyone in the room.

"This is an emergency situation, as such, I'm invoking my authority as governor to demand you all follow my orders without question. All citizens are hereby ordered to evacuate to the shelters on the south side, including those here. I will remain behind and contact Mrs. Hayes, advising her of our situation," he declared, and everyone stood up instantly. The rights of the governor were well understood by his people, and none would question them. As they began to leave, Williams set his hand on Shepard's shoulder.

"Please make sure Ashley stays in the shelters, won't you?" he asked of the other man, who looked between his own children, and the governor's granddaughter, nodding as he quickly began to rush the young ones out the door, leaving the older man behind, who began the process of contacting his leaders, and passing this problem up to a higher authority.

OoOoO

"That's the situation, ma'am," said the flat, floating image of the governor of Shanxi to Hayes, as she projected it so everyone in the Council Chamber could hear. Whispers echoed loudly in the silence that followed, as the various hangers on wondered aloud to each other just what this would mean for the negotiations.

"Thank you for contacting me, Mr. Williams. If you'll hang on a moment, I'll get straight to the bottom of this," said Hayes, before turning her wrist so the face was to the side, while she stared straight at the Council. The salarian looked impassive about this, as if the situation itself was something common, while the turian seemed to be trying to stare her down, like she should have expected this. Only the asari seemed truly shocked, but her expression was one of pity, as one might have for a child being punished, rather than a sovereign head of state whose nation you were threatening, if indirectly.

"Councilors, in the name of these negotiations, I must protest, and demand you order General Sparatus to remove his fleet from over Shanxi," she told them at last, when none of them volunteered anything.

"I'm afraid that action is impossible. We have no hypernet beacons in the system, and as such cannot send orders quicker than the speed of another ship, which wouldn't get there for days at this point. Your best course of action would be to simply submit for now. So long as the population is cooperative, the General will have no reason to harm anyone," responded the turian Councilor, and a few heads in the room nodded, with murmurs of agreement, at least until they looked at Hayes.

At first, it appeared she was frozen, in either indecision or shock, but if one looked closer, they could see her free hand at her side, clenched into a fist, and shaking slightly. She lowered her head, and one could actually hear her breathing through clenched teeth, first once, then twice, and finally a third time, before raising her eyes to the Council. Used to softness from her, willing to compromise or at least discuss things in the name of peace, the three beings were shocked to see a sudden icy chill of steel in her gaze, one that might cut them down.

"I will not give that order, and you are quite fortunate that I want these talks to succeed, otherwise I would...regardless. I have been open to the idea that in order to join the galactic community peacefully, we would be required to submit to a few changes in our laws and ourselves, but this situation is intolerable," she said this with a passion bordering on fire, as if each slight against her over the course of the negotiations had been saved up for this.

"You would never order one of your colonies to submit to an invader, and know that I would never do that to my people either. If it's a communication line you're worried about, we obviously have one with the governor, and I'm sure it could be routed to your own ship given a bit of effort," as she spoke, her eyes turned to the image of Williams, who nodded as he began to follow through on her request.

OoOoO

Sparatus gazed at the planet below with disgust. The place was barely habitable by turian standards, far too cold, with too thick an atmosphere. Most of the Local Clusters planets were like that. No one wanted this space other than the batarians, and even they just wanted it because it would be a useful staging are for raids. All in all, he would have said to just let the primitives take the planet, and any other they might want in this part of the galaxy.

However, they had fired on vessels under his command, carrying out orders he had given. Worse, they'd fired on them after the captain of those vessels had demanded they surrender to his legitimate authority. Such flaunting of the law needed to be punished, and not in the way a politician would have it done, with sanctions and a few words. No, that sort of infraction needed to be put down hard, otherwise it would encourage others to similar behavior.

The volus with their demands for equality when they certainly weren't, the quarians with their demands for respect, when all their problems were their own fault, and the krogan, always those scaly bastard krogan. If he had his way there wouldn't be any of those barbarians left. They weren't needed, and only served to remind others of the folly of rebellion against authority, an example that would be best served when the last of them died off.

Lost in thought, the General barely noticed when one of the cadets in front of him began moving, and then almost started when the image of that primitive on the planet below suddenly appeared before him again. The man had looked at least slightly panicked before, but now appeared calm and collected. That was either a very good, or a very bad sign, and Sparatus was willing to bet the latter rather than the former. All too often you needed to slap down races like this, who believed themselves masters, just because they made it into space.

"You're early, Governor Alexander Williams. You had a whole two minutes left to decide, though I would remind you that this decision will affect everyone on this planet, so make sure it's a carefully considered one," he told the face in front of him.

"I made my decision very carefully, and as such, I decided to contact my leaders for their opinion on the subject. As I said, some of my leaders were meeting with some of yours', and that resulted in a solution best for all parties I believe," and with that, he reached forward in the image, and instantly several new shapes bloomed beside the flat image, these in three dimensions. He recognized one instantly, of course, as the turian Councilor, the other two were dressed such that he quickly assumed they were the asari Tevos, and the salarian Dalatress who currently took those seats on the Council.

"General Sparatus, we have just been informed that you are violating the territory of the Terran Federation. Would you care to explain yourself?" asked the Dalatress, her cold stare boring into the general. The sight of the three startled Sparatus for several seconds, as he just stared at them, wondering if this was some sort of trick or manipulation. After collecting his scattered thoughts, he quickly decided it didn't matter in the slightest, and stood proudly before the politicians at an attention rest stance.

"I was retrieving property belonging to the Hierarchy that was left in this system after an unjust attack by the people here. As is the duty of any line officer, I brought my fleet to investigate the nearby colony and confirm if they are guilty of anymore wrong doing," he explained in his calmest voice, which was just below a hiss. It was obvious from his tone that he did not like being questioned at all on his activities.

"And have you retrieved the ships?" asked the asari Councilor.

"They were loaded into the bays of my the my fleet group just a few minutes ago," he told her simply.

"Such dedication to your duty is a commendable trait in a leader of men, but seeing as you were able to retrieve the property in question, I would advise you to vacate the system. We are in the midst of delicate negotiations with the people who's colony you are currently hovering over, and they do not like being threatened," she said in that diplomatic tone an asari could get when they were talking down to you. Sparatus looked her right in the eye though, and shook his head.

"This system is currently still under the protection of the Hierarchy, as are all unclaimed planets of this galaxy. As this situation arose due to the locals...negligence to inform the proper authority of their settlement, it must be vetted, to discover if they are harboring raiders or pirates. Once that is done, we'll gladly leave, but until such time I will not back down," he said, and then, before anyone else could say anything, he cut the channel, banishing the floating images, and beginning to relay orders.

OoOoO

"Well, that couldn't have gone much worse," said the Dalatress turning to the turian, who had stayed silent during the entire conversation. In front of them, beside the face of the Terran on Shanxi was a model of the planet itself, with several turian vessels hanging in the sky. As they watched, a few of these were beginning to break away from the rest of the fleet, angling towards the surface of the world below.

"He is well within his rights as a commander in the field to do as he's doing. It would be best if they simply allowed the inspection. If they have nothing to hide, then what would be the problem?" asked the turian, before turning towards Hayes, about to say something more, but he found her eyes were lit up like fire, a slight green glow behind them. The sight caught him off guard, and so he didn't say anything, merely watched as she pushed several keys on her omnitool.

"I will not stand for this violation of Terran territory, as I said, Councilor. If communications can be restored, I expect you to order Sparatus to stand down, otherwise, this will get messy," she said, this as another window popped up, this one without a face in it, just a set of letters and numbers at the bottom. SDF-4, The Sword of the Southern Cross.

"This Amanda Hayes, Representative of the Senate on the Conclave. By my authority, I order this command to Shanxi to defend the colony. All steps to preserve the life of the invaders are to be taken, but they are not to set foot on the surface of the world, understood?" said the woman, and several people were taken aback by the harsh tone.

"This is Southern Cross. Please state command code," came a heavily modulated, electronic voice.

"Code is X3A, fly true, strike hard," she said, and a series of beeps could be heard, before the window suddenly closed, and Hayes stared at the planet floating in front of her, several of the onlookers turning to each other, and then activating cameras in their own omnitools, sure not to miss a single angle on the actions playing out before them.


	16. Shot Heard Round the Galaxy

Miriya Sterling sat on her chair, feeling down on herself again. Around her the usual hustle and bustle were going on, those actions that allowed her command to function at peak efficiency whenever it was called upon, even though the occasions that it would be were rare as hen's teeth. Those going about their business would sometimes look at her, and at the object she held in her hand, before starting back to work again. Everyone was avoiding her, it seemed.

She sighed, a bit more wistfully than she probably should have considering she was the officer on deck, but it was a glum day, one she would have liked to beg off on, but events were spiraling towards a climax, and she wouldn't miss them for the world. For him, she would have, but not the world. Thinking those thoughts, she gently ran her fingers down the side of the thing in her hand, a small locket, which popped open easily, revealing two worn out pictures inside.

"Oh Max," was all she said, and this in a whisper that didn't carry. Not that it needed to. The bridge crew knew her well enough to remember the date. On this day, over two hundred years ago, Miriya, Zentraedi ace pilot and one of their greatest warriors, had become Miriya Sterling, the first, and not the last, of her people to find their home among the humans. So few of them had been of her breed though, so few had had the extra genes to live like her, practically forever. Only five others, and all of them loners, none who ever gave their hearts away to those who would pass on.

To those of the Terran race, she was considered their mother, the first woman to bare a Terran child, mixing both homo sapien and Zen DNA together to create a new way of living. None of those on her bridge thought of her like that though. To them, she was the great warrior, a soldier and commander on the level of the great Henry Gloval himself, and able to lead them to victory against any foe that might decide to stand in their way. They knew why she was there today, when she should have taken a day off, so they gave her all the space they could, at least until an alert sounded, and a small display on her chair sprung to life.

"This Amanda Hayes, Representative of the Senate on the Conclave. By my authority, I order this command to Shanxi to defend the colony. All steps to preserve the life of the invaders are to be taken, but they are not to set foot on the surface of the world, understood?" said the display, the voice normal though slowed down a bit by a scrambler code on the transmission.

"This is Southern Cross. Please state command code," said Miriya into her station, instantly awake and alert, ready for this to be either real or a trick.

"Code is X3A, fly true, strike hard," said Hayes voice, and then the channel automatically closed, the order given.

"All hands, battlestations, I repeat, all hands, battlestations!" shouted Miriya, and instantly the milling about several troops had been doing became very deliberate runs, hopping into their chairs and putting on head sets. Orders were shouted into those sets, and all along the length of her ship, lights began to turn on, engines were spun up, and the fold drive deep within, that had been kept on stand by, was given the go ahead. Before a minute had passed, the great ship she served on was surrounded by a glowing sheen of light, and then it vanished.

OoOoO

Sparatus had just given the order for some of his ships to land on the planet. A few frigates only, not cruisers. They knew the Terrans were larger than your average sentient, by an order of magnitude. That information had been included with the mission that had brought him here. Acting on that, he wanted any ships sent down to be able to remain active for as long as possible, with guns and weapons ready should any of the Terrans get any big ideas.

As the final course was charted, as the first frigate began to move, it happened. There was a bright flash of light outside his view port, and he had to cover his eyes with his hand, trying to peer out into the depths of space to find what the heck had caused it. All around him, the sounds of officers trying to adapt, a few screaming, as they'd been blinded by the bright light, possibly some kind of attack from below, a new weapon they hadn't been told about.

When his vision cleared enough that he could see, leaving only a few spots, he got a good look at what had happened, and his heart nearly stopped. In front of his ship was a new space station. He couldn't really gauge the size, but with the various cruisers and frigates in his view, he knew the thing had to be quite distant to be seen, and so massive that it dwarfed the Citadel itself. It now hung there in space before him, as if daring him to try something.

OoOoO

The Council Chamber hung silent as the new shape appeared. There was no flash of light for them, just one minute, the sky was filled with only turian vessel, the next, it just popped into existence, and you could hear the shocked gasps of politicians, the muttered obscenities of the military minds, and even a few prayers to gods or ancestors the speaker probably hadn't even really believed in until that moment.

The shape was too scale, or so they assumed as the turian fleet was displayed that way in the hologram. That meant that the thing was miles and miles long, at least as large as the Citadel, if not larger. The design was dirt simple too. It was a single long shaft, seemingly smooth like a jewel, and in the shape of a square prism. Near the back part, just from the end of the thing, jutted several smaller prisms at ninety degree angles to each other, before a piece of the longer one, the same length as the pieces jutting out, stretched behind.

To a human, the shape was simple, a sword of blocks. The hilt, a star guard, or so Hayes had had it described to her once, with two sets of arms instead of a single, allowing it to be held at different angles. The shape have given the unit its name, The Sword of the Southern Cross, otherwise called the SDF-4. It was eighty miles in total length, eight miles wide at every end, and the rear protrusions and the arms both stuck out an additional eight miles from the body.

Simple design, on a massive scale. It was also the most powerful mobile weapon Terrans had ever designed. The main gun, which ran the entire length of the ship, was powerful enough that it could punch a hole in a planet, and most of that length was still covered with small bumps that couldn't be seen in the holo, each one a reflex turret, with enough firepower behind the individual shots to level large sections of a city from orbit. To the Terrans, the view of this had become a major point of triumph, that they had built something so powerful.

"Governor Williams, would you try and patch us through to Sparatus again? I think he might want to talk a little more now," said Hayes to the still floating image of the older man, who just nodded as he worked on getting the connection established again. The Councilors, looking at the sight before them, unable to look away, were numb to those words. Each one thinking thoughts of how badly this could go, if Sparatus refused to listen to reason.

OoOoO

"General, there's a transmission from the planet. Should I put it through?" asked a captain Sparatus barely heard as he continued to just stare out of the port at the thing in front of him. Sensors were confirming its existence, somehow popping into being, despite being almost twice as long as the Citadel, and an estimated mass of not much lower. This thing was a beast, a feat of engineering he had never even considered possible, and now it hung there, silent.

"Sir?" asked the captain again, this time his hand going to Sparatus' shoulder, the touch of another instantly snapping him out of his thoughts, as he focused on what he was being told, motioning for the officers to put the governor's image back in front of him. That was then replaced a moment later by the three Councilors all of whom looked at him like he was scum of some sort, something to be wiped away to make them all feel clean again.

"General, I believe the Terrans have made their point quite clear. You will not be allowed to land, and are hereby ordered to return to Citadel Space as soon as possible. Is that clear?" asked the salarian, her tone suggesting that he had better fall into line right now, or face the consequences. Looking dully at her, and then back out the window, the turian's face seemed frozen in shock, and the Councilor was just about to order the second in command to take over, when the General raised a single hand.

"Captain, have all ships prepare weapons to fire on my mark," he said, and that order seemed to snap a few of his subordinates out of their own daze. With a command at last to be followed, they leapt to their stations and began signaling the other ships in the fleet.

"General, I do believe you just gave an order counter to the will of this Council. You are ordered, ordered! To stand down, right this instant," said the salarian, and General Sparatus turned to face her, his gaze fixing on the image of her in front of him, and then turning slightly to the side to the turian Councilor, who stood there, impassive, almost like he was ignoring the whole situation and hoping it blew over.

"Councilor, as the officer in the field, my command is absolute under the Citadel Conventions. That authority trumps even yours in a combat situation, which this has now become due to the Terrans' refusal to submit to a simple search. I feel that deserves a response in kind. All guns, fire in ten seconds," this order was relayed to the ships in his fleet, and even as the politicians impotently shouted at him, trying to keep him from protecting them from these upstart Terrans, he felt the dull thunk of a launch beneath his feet.

OoOoO

"Incoming fire!" shouted a voice on the bridge, the SDF-4 having been hanging there, waiting for some response to their arrival. Honestly, looking at the fleet before her, less than a thousand ships all total, Miriya had expected them to surrender. That was not to say that fire had not been counted on, and as the projectiles closed, solid state things of metal and speed rather than energy and heat, she heard the hum of the barrier system starting up. Within a heartbeat, an oval of green energy came into being around her ship, protecting it.

The impacts were still felt, however, as hundreds of the things slammed home hard. Stations began to shout numbers at her, engine levels, protoculture drain, and a dozen other things besides. She heard it all, taking in every detail of the battle. When the fire had passed, she watched with everyone else for a few moments, wondering if the enemy would continue to waste their time. Kinetic projectiles had no chance of penetrating a full omnidirectional barrier.

When no second wave of shots came, Mirirya considered her options. The enemy weapons were useless against her defenses, but they couldn't fire with them up either. The barrier was a two way street. She could just plow through them, of course, but she'd been told their ships were faster, and if they started maneuvering around she'd never catch them. Looking at her targeting displays, she decided, and pressed a button on her console so her voice would echo through the ship.

"All stations, prepare to return fire. Our information is that reflex weapons, and the enemy's own barriers down mix, so every gunner pick your target. Barrier drop in ten seconds. Point defense operators, prepare to intercept any incoming fire," the order was given, and she was satisfied with her crew as everyone quickly dropped into position, the bridge stations showing power drain of the various systems, before, at her count, the barrier fell, and streams of blue light shot between the massive SDF-4 and the turian fleet.

OoOoO

The image hanging above the Council showed the absolutely ridiculous amount of firepower pouring onto the ship, enough that even the best ship in the fleet would have been smashed into its component atoms. Then a glowing barrier appeared around the Terran ship, and suddenly that firepower looked woefully inadequate next to the power of this ultimate weapon, the shield blocking everything with ease, leaving the ship floating there serene, almost like a bomb before it exploded.

Every eye in the room knew that they were witnessing history, and so no one spoke as the barrier withdrew, leaving the ship once more exposed to the turians. Before another salvo could be fired, lances of light shot from the hull of the Terran vessel, streaking their way across space. The shots, faster than the turians, struck in seconds, and each vessel shuddered under the impact, the small frigates all having their barriers blown away, before going dead, in space, and at the Terrans' mercy.

To the larger ships, cruisers and dreadnaughts both, those shots might as well have been so much water, for all the impact they had. The light of each blast broke like waves upon the rocks, leaving the ships unharmed. Still, the fight seemed over, with so much of the fleet gone, and Hayes looked confidently at the images floating in front of her. Another salvo was fired from the turian ships, and this time many dots of light bloomed on the surface of the large vessel, each intercepting as much of the incoming fire as they could.

Not every shot was blocked, however. The points of light simply couldn't move fast enough to cover every projectile, and so many of them struck home. Where they did, the hull crumpled, and in one case, a hole seemed to be torn through several decks, causing Hayes to gasp. The armor of the SDF-4 wasn't the best, as the ship was designed more as a first strike weapon, but still, it was armored the same as any other warship. To see that hull simply punched through like that was a shock.

OoOoO

"Report!" shouted Miriya, holding onto her chair as violent shudders tore through the ship.

"Impact, D-sector. Seals are holding, no casualties to report ma'am," said one of the AIs from a monitor nearby, and she would have breathed a sigh of relief at that, if she could have allowed herself that moment. She was a soldier, however, and instead powered through.

"What happened?" she asked simply.

"The Point Directional Barrier is used to larger strikes over a wide area. Too many small hits incoming strained the systems ability to respond. Compensating," as she spoke, the large points of light suddenly broke apart into many smaller ones, and as a third wave of shots came in, every single one was intercepted this time, giving them all that moment of respite to collect themselves.

"Did our shots have any affect on their shields?" she asked, and saw at least a few stations running sims of the first strike, even as more fire from the enemies continued to rain down.

"Affirmative. There was a slight power decrease in them when struck. It will take approximately twenty two hundred hits to drain their systems fully at that rate," confirmed one of the Terrans sitting in a seat nearby.

"Unacceptable. Attempt a concert fire," she ordered.

"Target?" asked one of the nearby AIs.

"One of the smaller ships, we have to decrease the amount of incoming fire," she said, and was given an acknowledging beep, before she looked on her main monitor to watch as more and more fire was propelled her way. The turians were getting smarter too, sending fire in alternating patterns, and dividing up where their shots would hit, trying to overwhelm the point barriers. They weren't succeeding yet, but a single miss could tear the ship apart, if that first impact was any indication.

"Concert fire, locked," said one of the stations.

"Fire!" she ordered, and then watched in pride as her ship shot at her foes again. This time instead of hundreds of small columns of light, there was first one, then another, and then another, each turret firing in a pattern so that each shot would land at the exact same moment, showing a level of coordination that was surprising, even if some of those gunners were AIs.

When the shot finally passed the bow of her ship, fully sixty shots were part of it, and the slammed hard into the enemy ship before it could do more than notice the incoming fire. These shots landed hard, and as before, the impacts seemed to scatter on the barriers. However, instead of spreading out in all directions, lines like those that had appeared on the frigates ran over the cruisers barriers, and after a few seconds, that barrier popped, leaving the cruiser adrift, and getting a triumphant shout from the crew on the bridge.

"Concert fire again, begin binary test. Let's find out just how many of our shots they can take," she ordered, and a few crew members got rather wicked grins on their faces as a second volley of three sets of thirty slammed home, and once again, the targets were disabled, everyone aboard thinking the battle was won save the enemy surrendering or, as one of the dreadnaughts appeared to be doing, turning tail and running. Then she noticed something. The dreadnaught stopped turning before going completely the other way, and her eyes followed the ship's bow, before slamming her fist on her station, her voice ringing out over the bridge.

"I need the main reflex cannon to power, now!" she shouted.

"Ma'am, the main gun was damaged by the hit from earlier," said one of the bridge officers, an image of the ship flashing on her monitor with red lights in the damaged section.

"Then start charging the secondary, I want to fire as soon as possible!" she ordered, and then watched as another image of her vessel appeared on the monitor before her, hoping she was wrong, hoping the ship wasn't doing what she thought it was doing. Near the rear of her vessel, arcs of lightning began to play between one set of 'arms'. The energy moved up, and then hung in the space between those sections of the ship, soon joined by more arcs, as at the center of the lightning, a small ball began to grow, getting larger and more powerful as the seconds ticked on, but no where near fast enough.

OoOoO

"Yes!" shouted Jonathan Archer as he watched the monitor before him. His ship, along with a dozen other frigates, had been sitting here in space, floating a bit away from the relay that would take them to the Citadel, for almost a week now. He'd been concerned the whole time with what his home would do if trouble came, but seeing the SDF-4 defending it, he was satisfied that it would still be there when he got back. The battle seemed all but over now, and he almost wanted to open a bottle of champagne he'd been saving.

Then he noticed something. Something worrying, as one of the vessels in the rear, the big dreadnaughts, began to turn. After first, he thought it was trying to retreat, but then it stopped before it was facing fully away from the battle. Without saying anything, he fiddled with his controls to see what it was facing, and then his eyes went wide.

"T'Pol! Calculate Fold maneuver!" he cried out.

OoOoO

"This is going very badly," whispered the salarian Dalatress to her companions. The two Councilors could do little but nod at the comment. The battle, whichever way it went, was going to seriously hamper negotiations, and they would be forced to make at least some token reparations to the Terrans to make up for it. Luckily, it seemed for the moment that neither side had taken many, if any, fatalities. Still, in battle, that was only a matter of time.

"We should have cleared the chamber the instant this began," griped the turian beside her, and the Dalatress could only nod. It was far too late now, of course, and none of them could have known this would happen, but still, she hoped to be able to nip any problems like this in the bud next time. Looking up, she found the battle seemed nearly over. A back and forth had turned almost completely one sided now, despite the damage to the Terran ship.

"We might even be able to get some concessions out of Hayes for this," commented the Dalatress as the battle began to wrap up. A few ships to haul their fleet back, with an appropriate admonishment to the General, and probably a demotion. With that fleet down and out though, they could possibly convince Hayes to assist with border patrols, and allow Council agents onto the Terran ships. That could give them a lot of information, and a Specter or two in the midst of that fleet might even be able to get away with swiping some of that protoculture stuff.

"Wait, what is...?" the question trailed off, as the image of Sparatus' personal dreadnaught began to turn, looking at first like it might be about to flee the battle. Then everyone present realized what was really happening, and all of them just stared, shocked at this turn of events.

OoOoO

"What is that ship doing?" asked Shepard as stared at the monitor before her. It showed the battle hologram the Council was watching. Then she realized what it was she was seeing, and her heart leapt, as her eyes went wide.

OoOoO

"Hmm, well, that appears to be game," said Governor Williams to the empty conference room in his home. The display of the ships battling overhead had focused on one in particular, a huge arrowhead, now aimed straight for his colony. He knew what was coming. He knew how this was going to end, and could only feel cold resignation, wishing that he'd decided to keep Ashley at his side, as the future began to bear itself down upon him.

OoOoO

"This is impossible!" shouted the general as the information began to pour in. The enemy's first volley had somehow disabled his ships, hundreds of frigates rendered in operable. At first he had thought they were destroyed, as they vanished from his tactical displays, but then someone had actually decided to look for them, rather than just register their connections were dead, and found that the ships were intact, but dead in space.

Ordering another salvo from the remaining ships of his fleet, which seemed to be immune to this enemy weapon, he was satisfied when one of the shots not only got through the defenses, but literally tore a hole in the side of the enemy vessel. The ship was huge, powerful, but it wasn't invincible. It might take a while, but he could win this, and then he'd drag this thing's wreck back to Citadel Space. If they complained about it, well, they'd been the ones to attack his ships, the legitimate authority here.

Then it struck back again, in an impossible way. He saw it, the fire as it passed over the hull of that monster, each shot followed by another, and then another. It would have taken more than a computer or a gunner to do that. Even the AIs he knew of could not have calculated so well. Still, however they did it, the Terrans were able to fire off all their guns in sequence, so that a huge mass of blue light smashed into the barrier of one of the remaining cruisers, popping it like a bubble, and leaving the cruiser dead in space.

"Turn us!" he shouted to the crew in front of him, many of whom had been calculating firing vectors and the like, to make sure they didn't hit any of their own ships, which floated dead in front of them.

"General?" asked the captain, and Sparatus, rather than giving the order again, walked around his display and towards a piloting station ahead of him. Pushing the pilot out of his seat, he programed in the course he wanted, and felt the slight bit of motion as the engines began to turn the ship to the side. The massive weapon ahead slid out of view, to be replaced by the planet below.

"Fire control, give me a targeting solution on the colony," he said simply, coldly. The crew, unable to do anything other than what their training dictated, gave the general his request, and he felt that lovely hum as shots from the main cannon began to spin up to speed.

OoOoO

Across the galaxy, in a half a dozen locations, there were hundreds of eyes looking at the battle over Shanxi. All of them, as one, turned to the ship at the rear of the turian formation. All of them knew what was going to happen, and none of them could stop it. They could only watch in horror, as the turian dreadnaught charged up its main cannon, spinning a large hunk of metal up until it was going at near light speed, and then fired out of the cannon that housed it, streaking down into the atmosphere of the planet on a screaming trajectory towards the world below.

"No!" cried out the voices of many of the watchers, a final cry at the unfairness of it all, impotently begging the universe for some miracle to stop this.


	17. Fire and Light

A shot from a mass effect cannon is a simple thing. You use the ME field to lighten the projectile, making it easier to move, and then you use magnets to apply a spin to it, creating force. When the spin is at the limit of what the gun can tolerate, the ME field is altered, and mass is multiplied by many orders of magnitude, the spin providing momentum for the shot, while the ME field aims it. The barrel of the gun provides extra umph to get the shot on its way, and outside it seems to glow as the magnetic lining has electricity run through it.

This is the principle of a mass effect weapon. Barriers are designed to spread the force of the shot out, rather than simply take it head on, but a ground target, unable to shield itself, will find the impact to be as destructive as a bomb. The shot from a dreadnaught's main gun is almost a planet killer all on its own to an unprotected planet, with the initial blast enough to destroy anything within fifty miles of the impact site, and sending debris and dust into the air for a farther hundred miles out.

The turian ship above Shanxi fired, the shot flying straight and true towards its target, the very center of the Terran colony below. To Sparatus, the choice had been obvious. This colony was protected by a weapon of such size and obvious power that there was simply no way for it to truly be what they claimed it was. This was no civilian port of call. It was a staging base, a place from which to launch attacks on Citadel space, and begin invading the homes of his people.

To the rest of the galaxy, not blinded by their fear of change, this was an act that would have gone down in history, a moment that would mark forever the turians as not the just defenders of law that they proclaimed themselves, but as murders. In a time far in the future, the Terrans, enraged, would destroy the turians for this. They would stand over the turian homeworld, and with a single blast, would destroy it, and every remaining turian would know it was because of one man's arrogance and ambition.

That future was not the road this moment took. As the shot flew, in those few seconds before it would hit the surface, another flash, like the one that had brought the SDF-4 to Shanxi happened. It was smaller, but then, the vessel that arrived was smaller as well. This ship, one that the people of Shanxi knew well, came to their aid in this dark moment. Everyone watching could see them there for the blink of the eye it took for the shot to land.

"Crew, it's been an honor," was all Jonathan Archer could say into his mic. He knew what he'd done, sending them here, to this place and moment. His crew, at the stations aboard the ship, said nothing. They felt no shame in this, no horror at what was being asked of them. All had been watching at their own stations, the battle playing out above their homes, all knew why the captain had chosen this course for them. Those with other crew members, stood, and saluted, those alone, just saluted their monitors, and then, in a crash of metal, a crunch of force, the Phoenix was struck by the turian projectile.

The armor was designed to resist reflex weapons, things of light, heat, and force. At this, it was decent, but the turian's weapons were not one to divide their power between three elements. The turian projectile was just force, and the armor that was struck buckled instantly under the strain. The crew had no time to mourn themselves, even the AIs had no time to abandon ship, instead they took this death with the dignity that was due to their training and went into that good night with glory.

The shot tore through the ship, until it struck the engine, and as the protoculture inside was released, it exploded outward, a ball of blue fire consuming the shot, the ship, and everything for a mile around. Below, the colonist who had been looking up could see this blast, and while they may not have known the specifics, every one of them knew what had happened, a ship had sacrificed themselves for the colony, and all of them gave the same gesture of respect to those who were lost, while vowing vengeance against those who had taken them.

OoOoO

"Jonathan!" cried a woman on the Presidium, her voice echoing far and wide, every eye on the streets turning to face her. Only a few knew the story there, but none could deny the pain in that cry, as a fist slammed hard into the wall, and tears began to form in the eyes of the giant woman, who had seemed almost like a statue for the last week. Those below backed off, a few murmurs of concern for what she might do now, but those were silenced by the ones wearing uniforms. They knew the pain she was going through, if not her specific story, and until she became violent, she could grieve in whatever way she needed.

OoOoO

"Sparatus! What are you doing!?" demanded a voice from beside him, and the turian general turned the pilot's seat to stare into the projected head of one of his fellow officers.

"I'm decapitating an enemy force. Whatever they're doing here, it's defended too heavily to be a simple farming colony," said Sparatus, as he relayed an order with a few gestures, to reload for another shot.

"That...that's unconscionable! That's a civilian colony down there!" said the face again, and the general ignored it. Septimus was ever a turian to think with his heart, and not with his head. This was not the time to be soft, this was a time to be hard as rock on the inside. Taking aim again, recalibrating the firing solution, Sparatus prepared to fire again.

OoOoO

"Turian fleet! If you do not surrender right now, I will be forced to destroy you, this is your only warning!" shouted Miriya into her display, the transmission was a general wave form, even if they weren't trying to receive it, they would get a face full anyway. Fury dripped from her voice, and her words were backed up by her weapons, the ball hovering between the pillars at the rear of her ship now measured a full mile across, and was only growing larger.

"This is General Sparatus, the time for surrender is far past. You and yours must be stopped, and if this is the only way to protect the Citadel from you, then so be it," was a quick, concise reply.

"Ma'am! Heat increasing from the turian vessel. They're preparing to fire again!" shouted one of the Terrans at a station nearby.

"Fire first then! If they want to die so badly, then let's spread their atoms across space!" ordered Miriya, and everyone present nodded. With a few quick buttons, the orb was aimed, the shot prepared, and then launched. The sound of it was lost in the void of space, but the vision of it, an arch of white-orange light, blazed across space, shooting straight and true.

Aboard the turian vessels, disabled and unable to move, there was no warning. One moment, they stood there, the next, wave of light struck them. The armor of their ships was no more ready for the heat and force of the shot than the Phoenix had been, and so they buckled instantly, mercifully. None aboard were given even that moment of horror as death, senseless and stupid, claimed them. Simply a moment of light and fire, and then it was over.

For those two cruisers in the way, the story was far worse. The barriers around their ships held for a moment, a set of three heartbeats. They had been designed with force in mind, spreading the impact out to reduce damage, and did much the same with the light and heat of this blast. But there was so much of it, and it was all around them so fast that the system simply couldn't keep up. They were given that horrible moment to look out, see death in the fires around them, and then the barriers collapsed, and it was inside with them, ending them in screams rather than silence.

The dreadnaught Sparatus was no different than the cruisers. The second shot had just left the barrel of the main cannon when the shot from the Terran ship hit. The projectile was vaporized by the overwhelming power of the other weapon, and his ship was tossed backwards. The barrier held longer though, and the crew were able to curse, rant, cry, or simply stand there. For some, it was that moment to face death with dignity, for others it was the moment to decry their leader, who had brought this fate upon them. The end for all of them was the same, the barrier held only for two seconds, and then their world became fire.

Sitting in the pilots seat, Sparatus was given the best view of this. His mind flashed. Not back over the events of his life, but oddly, to the events of his future. He saw himself in the Councilor's robes after a war with a much smaller version of the Terrans. He saw this new people begin to slowly spread throughout the stars, demanding the rights of an older race despite their youth. He saw one in particular, rise through adversity to be a leader, a unifier of peoples, rallying them against a darkness that was coming.

Then he saw fire and light alone. His skin began to melt, the metals in his face turning to liquid and running into every crag. His eyes boiled away, and he swore he could almost hear them pop, and finally he took a breath to scream, and found only fire there, the pain so great it silenced every thought he might have, until all at once, it was over, and darkness took him.


	18. Aftermath

Looking up at the display before her, Hayes could say nothing. The weapon that had been fired this day had never before taken a life, despite its power. Now the great Sword of the Southern Cross had tasted blood, and it was a bitter flavor in her mouth. In front of her, the Councilors were in awe. The weapon's fire had simply unmade so much of their work. Troops, ships, and weapons, all years in the making, and in that single instant, rendered to so much space dust. Silence ruled the chamber, until a voice rang out from Hayes' omnitool, the voice of the woman who had offered the turians a chance to avoid this.

"All ships in the turian fleet, the attacker has been dealt with, but I hold you all responsible for what has happened here this day. I shall offer you a final chance. Power down your vessels, and surrender them to me. If you wish to fight on, I shall grant you the death you crave, but know that it will be at best ignoble, at worst a waste. You have one minute," came the cold voice of Miriya Sterling, an open transmission to all her foes, even as further arcs of energy made their way up the arms of the SDF-4, forming four more bolts of light ready to fly.

"This is General Septimus, I officially surrender the fleet to the Terran Federation. All ships, you are hereby ordered to stand down, dump your cores, and await further instruction," came the voice of another turian, and within seconds, the few remaining vessels, even the two dreadnaughts, hung lifeless in space, radiating a few bits of heat and electricity into the void. The huge ship, seeing this, came forward, orders being given on how to go about surrendering, before Hayes lowered her arm, the image before her vanishing.

All at once, what had been silence turned into a cacophony of voices. Some turned to any turian in the chamber, be they in a military uniform or a government one, demanding answers as to how this happened. Others were screaming for them to take the woman in front of the Council into custody, proclaiming that it was her bullheadedness that had led to this. If she had simply been willing to allow a lawful inspection of her colony, no lives would have been lost.

To the Council, these voices and cries might as well have been the quiet of a graveyard. They heard none of it, for each, in their own way, was lost in thought. To the asari, this was a disaster of almost unprecedented proportions. A turian general had shirked his duty to the Council, and had shown how far their authority actually reached. To the turian, this was a disaster for another reason. The dreadnaught and all those ships destroyed. Ten thousand lives on the large ship, and thousands more on the smaller vessels, all gone in an instant. To the salarian, this was a disaster for the simple reason that the Terrans had won, with a weapon the Council simply had no counter to at present, and she had no time to plan for it, no time to send for spies, or to sabotage.

"This is a most distressing turn of events," said the Hayes, as she looked towards the Council before her.

"Indeed, perhaps a recess is in order for us to colle-" began the asari Councilor, only to be cut off as Hayes raised her hand, to silence her. Some in the chamber wondered at the impertinence of the gesture, but others worried, this woman's people had just shown powers so far beyond them, and now she commanded silence of their leaders.

"Twice now, you have offered my people war. First when we met, ignorant of who you were, and now here, in the full knowledge of us, but thinking us a simple race to be crushed under heel. As with the first, we will not accept this war, for that part of our nature we try to keep in check," the words seemed to echo over the chamber, as if being spoken by some demigod, and every word reverberated, being recorded by the orb and transmitted to the Citadel and beyond.

"However, peace is something we can offer you no longer either. So I will say this. The Local Cluster is our space, any Citadel Ships or peoples found in area after the end of the next month will be deemed trespassers in our space, and will be met as such. The batarians have that long to evacuate the two pirate bases they currently control in that space, before we come to claim the land as ours," the declaration was met with only silence, and so she continued.

"Farther, any unclaimed territory in the Skyllian Verge is now ours as well. We will not interfere in those colonies that already dot that area, and will remain out of those systems, but any place were your people are not, is now ours," she said this simply, and then stayed silent. When it was clear she would speak no more, the chamber erupted with shouts. Each seemed demanding a different thing. For the Council to execute an enemy of the state, for them to demand justice for the dead turians, and even for them to create a seat for these Terrans on the Council itself.

"I believe, we are done here," came Hayes' voice finally over the tumult, and everyone else went silent once more. She then simply turned and walked away, her shoes echoing as she walked in the once again silent chamber. She had made it almost a dozen steps when the turian Councilor realized she was really just leaving after making a statement like that.

"Wait a moment!" he shouted after her, but she didn't stop, walking like someone who was in a daze, dead to the world.

"I said halt! Guards!" a few of the armored soldiers, salarians interestingly enough, strode forward to block her way, and Hayes looked at them, before turning back to the Council. Her gaze didn't go for them though, instead she turned her eyes towards the floating orb that had been transmitting this entire scene to the Presidium far below. A single nod was her only gesture, before dropping to her hands and knees, as if she were injured.

The salarians, one with a look of true concern on her face, came forward to help the Terran up, only for a shudder to send her tumbling. In fact, every being in the chamber, from the Councilors to the aides, to the guards all felt the shaking, and all were knocked to the floor. The feared to rise, wondering if the Terran had used some dark magic to make this happen, and every eye searched the room to try and find the source of the shaking, only for Hayes to raise her beeping omnitool high, and an image to appear above her.

OoOoO

Far below on the Presidium, Shepard's eyes were glittering with tears she would not allow herself to shed yet, not until she was home, but in the meantime, her body had acted. Every joint of her armor was steaming, and one could smell the ozone in the air, if one had been so inclined to sniff. Few were focused on the sense of smell, however. Most were more visually inclined, as before them stood the Terran woman, a fixture on the Citadel that had yet to harm anyone, her fist still pressed tight against the Citadel Tower she had struck, leaving a single large crack at the site of impact.

"You," she said simply, looking down, and the C-Sec patrol that had been watching her since the events that had led to this began looked up at her, those eyes bearing down on them, as if she was going to crush them with the sheer weight of her attention.

"I don't have an omnitool, and I need to send a message, can one of you help me?" she asked, and her voice dripped with something. It wasn't a threat, it wasn't anger, and it wasn't power. It was a promise. A promise that should they try anything, should they poke her any harder than their leaders had already, she would not hold herself back, and she would not be gentle. Looking at each other, and then at her, an asari stepped forward.

"Do you know the frequency you want to contact?" she asked, and Shepard rattled off a set of numbers, which the asari dialed into her omnitool, before pointing the camera in the device at her.

OoOoO

"It was promised, when these negotiations began, that should we choose, the delegation from the Federation could leave at any time. You will allow Mrs. Hayes to enter the elevator, and she will come down to me. If this does not happen, I will be forced to rescue her, and that will not be good for relations between our peoples," said the image of Shepard's face, floating above Hayes. She said this in a tone of menace that shook those hearing it.

Any veteran soldier knew that sound, it was the sound of a soldier looking for an excuse to kill, and given what she had just done, Shepard would be able to do a lot of damage before anyone could stop her. Thus Hayes was allowed to stand, and walk towards the elevator, while below, Shepard picked her helmet back up. She didn't put it on, however, and just stood there waiting.

OoOoO

"It would seem this shopping trip is at an end," said Exedore, his tone one of sadness as he turned towards his escorts. All of them had seen what he had, and none of them were quite willing to face the rather of the giant, so all they did was nod at him.

"I believe it would be best if I returned alone to the embassy to gather some things I left there. Please, all of you, take care," he said the last in a friendly tone, trying to show that in spite of what had happened, he bore no one here any ill will. Then he took off, far faster than the turians in full armor could. As he went, everyone around him was giving him a wide berth, almost all of them witness to what was happening, and having no desire to become involved.

The turians who had been escorting him were quickly given orders, but in truth, they came from a dozen different sources. Some wanted them to seize Exedore, and hold him until he could be questioned, others demanded they leave the alien be, and still others began to order they shoot him, in honor of the fallen at Shanxi.

Taking command of the situation, Vakarian quickly ordered the group to disband, the target having already fled, and none of the orders coming from a source that they could say truly trumped the others. Quick to latch on to the excuse, the group went their separate ways, leaving Vakarian to his own devices. He considered returning with them, but thought better of it, and instead followed behind Exedore. There was someone he needed to talk to before she left.

OoOoO

A quick message from Exedore had Hayes and Shepard make their way back to the embassy they had been staying at. Behind them in the pavement, Shepard proved that she had indeed been holding back for the last week. Where before her footsteps had merely been small shudders, now they were quakes, and six inch deep impressions were left in the walkways as she passed, with a team of keepers following behind, doing their best to keep up with the damage, while a dozen of their number repaired the crack to the Citadel Tower.

She stood there impassive as the walls around her as her charges went into the building. She wasn't able to follow due to size, but everyone who came up gave her a wide berth, afraid of her in ways she had been trying to avoid the whole time she'd been there, but now relished. Of course, they might have been less afraid had they known that punching the tower hard enough to damage it had used all her armor's power, and the deep impressions in the ground were more the result of the armor's weight than her own.

"Excuse me," said a voice, and Shepard turned down to it, her face like chiseled stone. At her feet was a familiar form, but an unexpected one. It was the salarian Councilor, and her own features seemed set, as if to match Shepard's hardness with her own.

"Yes, Councilor?" asked Shepard.

"I have come to talk with Representative Hayes before she leaves. I am unarmed, alone, and promise that she will not be harmed," as if to demonstrate this, she opened her hands and held them aloft, so you could see that the robe she wore hung loose. Looking down, Shepard could hear an earnestness in her voice, and so stood to one side for a moment, allowing the Dalatress ingress, before resuming her post.

She stood there for minutes longer, wishing she had a way to listen in to whatever was being said, if only to distract her mind from all the horrible things running through it. The Citadel had threatened her husband, the man to whom she'd given her heart. Her children had literally been within a moment of dying, and had only been spared because her friends had been willing to give themselves up instead. If she hadn't had this assignment, she would have joined them, and to her shame, she wasn't sure whether she should be relieved she wasn't, or jealous of them for going out in such a way.

"Hello, Hannah," said a voice from below, breaking her dark train of thought, and snapping her back to reality. Looking down, she saw two people she wasn't sure how to feel about. They were friends. One had been with her, in a room, for two weeks, answering any questions she might have had, the others had been helpful in ways few others could be. Yet, their faces were the faces of the enemy, those who had killed her friends, nearly killed her family.

"Arus, Venari," she said to the two, looking behind her, and then deciding that for right now, for this moment, she wanted to be comfortable, and so she sat down, bringing her face closer to them.

"I-we came to say something, but right now, I can't for the life of me remember what it was," said Lieutenant Vakarian to her, as he mimicked her, settling down with his legs crossed beneath him, while his back was to the embassy wall. Underlieutenant Pallin didn't join the two, probably because his arm was still in that sling, and instead just leaned back, both of them facing her, as she looked down into the pool in front of her.

"I think we were going to say we're sorry, and if there had been anything we could have done, we would have," said Venari, and Arus nodded.

"Yes, something like that," he agreed, and then both waited for Shepard to say something. At first, she didn't, it was just her breathing in and out slowly, deliberately, as around her the Citadel spun on, like nothing had changed. Then she took a deep breath and sighed it back out, before turning to them.

"I don't know how to feel right now. I want to hate someone, anyone. One of your people attacked my home, my family and friends. If he were still alive, there wouldn't be a hole deep enough anywhere in the galaxy had could hide from me," she said at last, holding a hand before her eyes, and then clenching it tightly in a fist.

"But he's dead, killed along with far too many souls who trusted him to lead them. If it were just that, I think it would be you two who should hate me, because your people died like that," she continued this, and then turned down towards them, and you could see a small glitter in the corner of her eyes.

"It wasn't just your people though. I knew every single soul aboard the Phoenix. Katana Faraway, a hot shot pilot, best on Shanxi. T'Pol, a stuffy AI, but she was really good at keeping us organized. Tulley, a man just there for the paycheck, but a damn fine mechanic. And then there was Captain Jonathan Archer," as she spoke that last name, a single tear did finally fall, and she didn't try to wipe it away, instead leaning forward a little more, so it fell into the pool in which her boots were soaking.

"I named my son after him, did I tell you that, Arus?" she asked.

"You did. You said you respected him for his goals. He wanted to be a hero, just like his great-grandfather during the Robotech War. Jack Archer saved the lives of everyone in Greystone, and Jonathan wanted the chance to do something similar," repeated the turian, thinking back on the stories the two of them had swapped regarding their families.

"This wasn't the way he should have had to do it. There should have been a pirate attack, or an asteroid moving too close to the colony. Something were he could actually fight back. Not sacrificing himself and everyone else just because some psycho decides to fire at a bunch of civilians," she said this, and the sound of falling water came from above, the two turians just sitting there and letting her cry. This was the life of a soldier sometimes, to lose friends, even loved ones. To many, that should have made them harder to the pain, but for true soldiers, they knew it was something you felt all the more, and so they sat in silence, as she let herself go for that one moment.


	19. Aftermath: Salarian

Hayes and Exedore had been loading up one of the carts with a few of Exedore's larger purchases, with the man himself complaining that he was likely not going to see a good return on most of the investments he'd made over the last week when it came to Citadel credits. As they, together, lifted a large circular device onto the stack, grunting with the exertion, they heard a chime. Both stopped immediately looking at each other, and then at the door, before Hayes went to it.

"Hello?" she asked tentatively, both aware that right now, even with Shepard outside, they would be targets of aggression.

"Yes, Representative Hayes, it's the salarian Councilor. I am unarmed, and wish to speak with you before you leave. If that would be all right," the two looked at each other again, both a bit surprised by the humble tone of voice, and so Hayes opened the door, allowing the Councilor in, who looked at them both as she entered, and the seemingly jumbled pile of things on the cart, before bowing to them.

"I'm sorry if I'm interrupting, but I felt it would be the last time I would be able to speak with you, personally," she told them, and Hayes nodded, gesturing towards a set of chairs where they all took seats.

"It might be, I'm afraid. After the events of today, I doubt our governments will want to talk for a long time," said Hayes.

"Longer for me than you. I'm almost thirty five years old now, and will likely end the year retired to some nice warm place back on my homeworld. By the time our people have relations again, I will be long since dead. Still, I am a woman who looks to the future, it's why I'm a Councilor, and right now, I must ask these questions, to settle my mind about how the future will play out," she said this simply, bluntly, and both Hayes and Exedore just nodded at her, motioning for her to continue.

"You have ample reason to hate us, to make war on us, after what that fool did. If not the whole Council, at least the turians, and many a race, including the krogan, seem to think that you'll declare hostilities the instant you leave. I must ask, will you?" again, her tone was blunt. No tricks, no clouded meaning, just a desperate need to know. It got both Hayes and Exedore thinking, until finally, it was Exedore who answered with a question of his own.

"I know we sent the history files to you, but did you have time to go over them fully?" asked the Zentraedi.

"I will admit, I skimmed in a few places, but I think I absorbed it fairly well," answered the salarian.

"If that is the case, then I'm sure you're aware that my people are extra-galatic, from a galaxy called M51," he said, and she nodded at this.

"You came in search of the SDF-1, correct?" asked the Dalatress.

"Indeed. But, did you not wonder what happened to our old home after we left it?" responded the Zentraedi, and the Dalatress seemed taken aback by the question.

"I had assumed you couldn't get back. The data you gave us indicated it took you over a millennium to arrive here from where you originated," she said.

"Heh, a misconception. It took us one thousand years to find the SDF-1, not to get here. The range of a Fold Drive equipped ship is, to put it simply, unlimited. We can go anywhere in the universe in the blink of an eye. With the proper calculations of course," he seemed to add the last as an afterthought.

"But no, we could, and have returned to our birthplace. Before I tell you what we found, I will tell you this, one of the reasons our creators were so intent on finding the SDF-1 is the power source inside it, the Protoculture Matrix was central to powering the greatest weapon ever known to us. A device that, when activated, could cause any star, at any age or intensity, to expel all its energy in one apocalyptic blast of fire and force. In essence, it was a weapon that could turn the very stars themselves into bullets to be fired at your enemy," he said this simply, as if he weren't admitting that somewhere, somewhen, someone had created a device that could literally wipe out everything, everywhere.

"This device, the Stellar Detonation Device, or SDD, was by its very nature, a weapon of last resort. But our masters had sent us out to find the power to make it work, all their warriors and protectors, and so they left themselves without guardians, in a galaxy they had ruled through fear for so long that even they knew not a time when they were lords of all they surveyed," his tone changed now, to one of sorrow, as he spoke, and looked upwards, as if he could see through the Citadel, and out into space, into the spinning cosmos beyond.

"Without the Matrix, the SDD was weak, but it still worked, at least in part. Point it at a star, and the star would eject a wave of fire in all directions. It wasn't quite the explosion that was wanted by its maker, the worlds would be left, and able to be recovered, but it was powerful enough for their needs," he only seemed to grow darker as the tale went on, and though the Dalatress could tell exactly where this would end, she would not stop him, she had to hear this for herself.

"We can only guess at what happened next. Maybe someone among the Robotech Masters panicked. Maybe one of the other races grew stronger. Maybe it was just an accident. What we do know is that every world in the M51 is a graveyard of worlds now. The great crystal cities of Tirol were dust in the wind. The verdant jungles of the Invid homeworlds were just mountains of ash. Even the stone fortresses of the once mighty Karbaran, built into mountains, are just rubble," he seemed drained, and the Dalatress realized why.

Those words seemed to come from deep inside him. He must have seen these things for himself, after all, he claimed to be over two thousand years old, and it would only make sense to take someone along who had an intimate knowledge of the area. He must have been on those ships, traveling home, hoping to find his people again, only to find ruination left behind them. Home and hearth gone in a blaze of fire that consumed everything a world had to offer.

"That, my dear Councilor, is why we're refusing this war. We can't, and won't refuse a third time, but for now, we wish only to live in peace, lest the fire consume this galaxy, as it did the home of the Zentraedi so long ago," said Hayes, and the Dalatress could do nothing but nod, as her mind pictured that sort of war, and of her own home burning into cinders.

"Do you still have this Stellar Detonation Device?" she asked at last, a tremble of fear in her voice.

"No. Even if it had been something we recovered from the M51, we would have destroyed it. Such power is ultimately destructive, and nothing good can come of it," responded Hayes, and the salarian woman looked at her with those frog like eyes. She watched her move her hands, her feet, and even the in and out motion of her chest. In her time on the Council, the Dalatress had prided herself on knowing when she was being lied to, and in this statement, from this woman, she saw only truth.

"Then I have something to say, before I take my leave of you," she said this while standing up, and then fell to one knee before the two of them.

"We of Sur'Kesh recognize what has been done to you, if not by ourselves, than by agents bearing our will. For this reason, if nothing else, we grant your wish. The worlds you have claimed as you own are recognized as such, and we will not interfere in your affairs," so saying she stood up, and then looked at them, smiling in that odd way a salarian did, before turning on her heel.

She had intended to leave after such a declaration, but was stopped in her tracks as a low beeping sound came from Hayes' omnitool. The Councilor stopped in her stride, turning towards the the Terran, who was already pressing a button to answer the transmission. When she pushed it though, a form popped into existence, a hologram she recognized from his time pleading his people's case in front of her.

"Representative, I have...oh, I wasn't aware you were having company," said the form.

"I was just about to leave Mr. Garibaldi," she said, and made to do just that.

"Wait, I think you might want to hear this as well," he told her, and the Dalatress turned to face him.

"As you might remember, since you remember my name, I'm the electronic warfare officer of the Agamemnon. In that capacity I have been spreading...packages throughout the Citadel's computers," he said, and the Dalatress waved her hand in a dismissive gesture.

"You and every other information gathering service in the galaxy. My own people have spy tools spread the whole length of the station. I assume, you found something of note with yours, however," she said, and Garibaldi nodded.

"Something of grave importance to everyone here. When I leapt into the turian Councilor's omnitool I left a present behind for him. I figured it would be good for blackmail later, given some of the preferences I saw in the thing. It picked up a few incriminating things, but this more so than most," as he spoke, he waved his hand, and suddenly two smaller images appeared beside him, floating in the air. One was the turian Councilor himself, but the other was far more interesting, and known to everyone in the room, and probably the galaxy after today.

"Ah, Councilor, how may I help you?" said the image of Sparatus.

"I want to know the status of the fleets we have patrolling the batarian border," responded the Councilor. What followed was a few reports, most of them involving patrolled systems, a few skirmishes with batarian ships, and one that had apparently encountered a quarian ship that had been mining an asteroid. That one was shooed off back to its fleet, an action that seemed to give the general a great bit of amusement.

"I notice, in your reports, you failed to note Arterius' group. I believe the cruiser, Talons, was in command there," this statement seemed to bring the general up short for a moment.

"We only learned about the failure of the group to report in recently. A lieutenant has already been demoted for that, sir. May I ask how you learned of their disappearance?" he said this in a much more reserved and suspicious tone.

"You may, and your answer would be because the Talons is here on the Citadel," said the Councilor.

"I'm sorry, you're saying that Arterius, one of my most devoted officers, has left his post?" asked Sparatus.

"There are mitigating circumstances behind this. His patrol group encountered a new race, a species calling themselves Terrans, in the midst of activating Relay Three-One-Four. Seeing the situation, Arterius decided the best course of action was to stop them through force, and fired on them," explained the Councilor.

"That doesn't sound so bad. New races sometimes need to be taught that doing things without thinking them through will result in unpleasant consequences," retorted the General.

"I agree. However, it seems this race is in possession of a new type of technology, far different from the eezo base we ourselves use," and then he pushed a button on his omnitool, and another image appeared between them, this of the Agamemnon and the Phoenix.

"Their ships are massive in scale, and their ambassador here on the Citadel claims to have thousands of ships of at least dreadnaught weight," as he spoke on, images of a turian dreadnaught and cruiser joined the two Terran vessels, showing their size against the Terran ships. The comparison was not comforting to a military mind.

"That must be a lie. We have one of the most robust economies in the galaxy, and even we can't support more than a few dozen. A race new to the galactic scene would simply not have the capability to keep a fleet of more than a few ships of that weight supplied and manned," said Sparatus as he observed the images.

"Again, I agree. Too many of her claims are outrageous. They even claim that their technology is extra-galactic in origin. Which brings me to the point of this transmission. They have a colony in the system with the relay. While the Talons was brought to the Citadel with their ship, they left the escort frigates behind. I want you to retrieve them from the system, and while you're there, inspect their colony," as he spoke, he leaned forward, his face almost touching Sparatus'

"By inspect, do you mean seize?" asked the general, his face going to his omnitool. Obviously he was recording this conversation, for what end not anyone present could say.

"If it becomes necessary, yes. We must have examples of their technology to either prove their claims, or label them as the liars I believe they are. If we must inconvenience a few of their citizens, so be it. Such power introduced too quickly onto the galactic stage could be catastrophic to our entire society," said the Councilor, trying to justify his actions before the fact, as he knew his words were being recorded.

"If they resist me, is lethal force authorized?" this question seemed to catch the Councilor off guard, as if he had not considered that the Terrans might resist to the point of combat. Still, he collected himself after a few heartbeats.

"I will not authorize lethal force against a civilian outpost. Should it prove to be more than that, you may use your own discretion, but be aware, one of the examples of this new specie is over sixty feet in height. I have had agents confirm independently that this is not some trick, and appears to be the real thing. They claim that this is the average size of their people, though the only two I've seen in person are certainly smaller than that," this time it was the general's turn to be caught off guard, and it took him considerably longer to recover as he seemed to be trying to mentally picture someone of that size.

"I will make sure all ground teams are told this, and given the appropriate gear to handle it. Is there anything else we should know going in?" asked the general.

"Two things. First that they had a weapon capable of disabling the frigates in short order. We don't know how it works, but all the reports I'm seeing say the blasts seemed to interact with the barriers somehow. The second is that the Terrans make use of AIs in their battles. These are far different than our own, and can access any open system, so it might be prudent to lock down every computer until you have control of the colony," this information was filed away, rather than being surprising to the general, who just nodded at it, and then motioned for the Councilor to continue.

"It would be best if you were able to get in and out without attracting too much attention. If reports are correct, they had no defenders in the colony, and it should be cut off for some time as I have delayed the deployment of a hypernet beacon. If you work quickly enough, you might get in and out before the Terran Federation's realized anything has happened," responded the Councilor, and the general nodded, before the two holos vanished, leaving the room around them in silence.

"How old is this file?" asked the salarian as she came back to herself.

"It's marked as being a week old, just after negotiations started. I would have found it sooner, but the data probe that recorded it was in a sensitive area. Dumping its memory probably caused at least a dozen alarms to go off, but I think the data speaks for itself," said Garibaldi, and the Councilor nodded.

"It does indeed. This would explain General Sparatus' rash actions. Still, to know that turian metal head decided to do this, behind our backs," she let the thought trail off as her mind ran over the likely scenarios of confronting him with this information. Most were quite violent, especially if he refused to step down. Sparatus' decision to violate Citadel Law and bomb a planet from orbit would already reflect badly on the Councilor, but this would destroy his career.

"Would the Councilor face the consequences of his actions, if you were to be given a copy of this recording?" asked Hayes, and without even thinking about it, the Dalatress nodded.

"Garibaldi, I want you to give all the data you have in regards to this to the Dalatress, and then delete your copies," ordered Hayes, getting some odd looks from those around her.

"Ma'am, are you sure that's a good idea?" asked the AI after a moment of silence.

"I am. The Dalatress has recognized our claim of the Local Cluster as legitimate. As such, it would be in the best interest of relations to allow her to deal with this matter internally," responded Hayes. Garibaldi looked for a moment like he wanted to argue the point, but then just shrugged. A second later the Councilor's omnitool beeped, saying she had a file, and then the hologram faded.

"I must act on this immediately. If you will both excuse me," said the Dalatress, and left as quickly as decorum would allow, leaving Hayes and Exedore alone. As they resumed piling more things onto the cart, the Zentraedi turned to the Terran woman.

"You are putting a great deal of faith in the Dalatress, considering what has happened today," he said, as they lifted up another ring shaped contraption together, grunting from the effort.

"I know it's a gamble, but it's one that could pay off. The salarians are used to being the last among equals. Not as respected for their wisdom as the asari, or as feared for their might as the turians. I think, given a few pushes in the right direction, they might decide their future would be brighter with us, than with their current allies," she said, and Exedore took a moment to think on that.

He realized quickly how many touch stones he had made himself in the last week here, and how the Council's status would be altered by the events of the day. The Council itself was a loose affiliation of various states and peoples, not strong ties. The volus were chaffing under the rather draconian authority of the turians they were being protected by. The quarians were constantly trying to get some help for their beleaguered position, only to have every cry silenced by the Council races. The krogan were literally dying out because the Council refused to forgive a mistake they had made.

All in all, he had to agree with Hayes. The Council's position would be unstable in the coming weeks, as they got used to having another power in the galaxy. To destabilize them farther by dragging out the events would only lead to anarchy and chaos on possibly a galactic scale. Best, for now, to work in subtler fashions. Who knew, maybe, someday, they really would come to an agreement with the peoples of the galaxy. For now though, he looked at the junk piled high on the cart, and realized he needed to get it back to his lab on Gloval Station. There were many new toys to play with, and they would keep him occupied as the galaxy spun on around him.


	20. Aftermath: Turian

The two guards had been on duty most of the day. Luckily for them they were the guards on the inside of the embassy, as they'd heard the ruckus outside, including at least one bottle breaking against a wall. They'd originally bet each other on how long the mob outside would last against twenty five trained turian soldiers, figuring the politicians and civilians outside would just give up, but somehow, over the past four hours, they'd just kept the near riot going, always taking care to stay just below the level that they would need to be removed.

Not that the guards were happy themselves. This was a stain on their people, though why it was varied by which turian you talked to. For some, it was a stain because they had found a race not willing to toe the line when it was asked of them, an affront to the might of the Hierarchy's position as protectors of law and order among the races of the galaxy. Others would say it was because one of their leaders had far overstepped his authority and ignored a direct order from the Council, a body which needed to be obeyed, just to preserve order. A final subset, smaller than the other two, but gaining ground, as just appalled at what one of their generals, supposedly the best of them all, had been willing to do to a new race, one who had not yet shown any sort of aggression.

Of course, few turians voiced their opinions to each other. Discord was not something their people could tolerate right now. They needed to show a strong face to the galaxy in the face of this disaster, and soldier through the rough patch. They had been the law keepers for over a millennium, and despite what had happened, that would not stop now, no matter what others said to them. So outside, the guards stood strong and proud against the crowd, only parting to allow a single individual in during that time, causing the two guards inside to raise their weapons, until they saw who it was.

"Councilor," they said as warmly as possible, though as she got closer, they moved to stand in her way, preventing her from entering the room.

"The Councilor is currently busy with matters of an internal nature to the Hierarchy. If you would like, we'll inform him that you wish to talk at his earliest convenience," said the taller of the two. The salarian in front of them didn't say anything, wondering idly if this matter would keep itself for a few minutes, but then decided it wouldn't. This was more important than anything that fool could be saying.

"I have urgent Council business to discuss with my colleague. This matter trumps any internal politics, and must be handled immediately. So either you can let me in, or you can knock me out and toss me outside," she declared to the two, looking up at their faces. It wasn't quite the same thing as facing down a Terran soldier, but it did take a lot of guts. Though it was probably less of respect for her, and more imagining what the crowd outside would do that finally got the two to stand aside.

"-just the beginning. Three of the sitting Protectorate Senators contacted me in the last two hours. One of them actually demanded to know how we would be reimbursing them for lost revenue, considering some of the trade agreements their agents apparently made with that Exe...oh, Dalatress," said the hologram, the visage of the current Primarch of the Hierarchy, looking almost as disheveled as the statement indicated. If the volus were willing to push against the turians, this event must have been quite the blow to their power base.

"Hello Primarch, Councilor," she said, coming in and hearing the door hiss shut behind her.

"I'll contact you later, Primarch," said the turian before her, pressing a single button on his omnitool and banishing the image of his leader.

"Ah, Dalatress, to what do I owe the-," the salarian cut him off with a gesture, and suddenly two holograms were standing there in front of him. The recording she'd been given played out, in its entirety, with neither saying a thing over the figures, though it seemed from her hard expression the Dalatress was building up words. The turian just sat there in his seat, passive as he watched himself give orders that would lead to the death of the man in front of him, as well as those of over ten thousand under his command.

"Well?" asked the Dalatress as the recording finished, and the turian didn't seem to hear her words at first, just staring at the point where Sparatus' image had stood. Finally though, he turned to her.

"Well, what?" he asked, and the tone in his voice seemed designed to get a rise from his accuser. The salarian didn't rise to the challenge though, and just stood there, waiting for him to continue. They stared at each other for what felt like hours, but was only really around a minute, before the turian's mandibles finally parted, and he let out a whistling sigh.

"Fine, if what you want to know is if its accurate, I can say yes. I figured one of your agents must have stolen it from my omnitool. A bit sloppy work, all things considered. Usually your kind cover their tracks better," he admitted at last, gesturing to a seat in front of his desk. The salarian took the offered chair, whipping her robes of office out to the side in a method that made her looked like some descending bird of prey, swooping down on him for a quick kill.

"It wasn't one of my agents that discovered this recording," she told him, and that brought the turian up short, his expression one of concern now.

"Who else knows about this then?" he asked.

"I would normally be more guarded with my sources, but considering the severity of these events, I will tell you. The Terran AI, Garibaldi, was the one to find the file He claimed to have left a small spy package in your omnitool during his leap into it," she told him, and his expression became hard as stone. She could see the wheels of his mind turning behind those eyes, probably imagining the Terrans were going to launch a full scale assault on Palavan itself. When he finally unfrozen he reached over to his desk, but she held up a hand to pause him.

"They've already left, Councilor. About an hour ago, given my information. I wanted to take some time to confirm independently with a few sources on transmissions from the Citadel to outlying fleets, before I came to confront you," she told him, and instantly that hard concern softened. If the Terrans had been wanting to harm Palavan, given the speed with which their great ship had leapt to the defense of a small farming colony, they would have done it instantly.

"If they know of my role in today's events, why would they not be demanding my head?" was the question that left his mouth, and the salarian could only shrug in response.

"I'm not sure myself. They have something against war in general, an admirable, if naïve, trait. Representative Hayes asked me to deal with the matter in the manner I see fit," she told him, and this seemed to bring the turian up short for a moment in his train of thought. Finally though, he rose from his seat and looked outside his window. Out there one could see the result of his actions, a teeming mass of politicians, businessmen, and even a few of the lower classes who had found their way onto the Presidium.

On every face that could be seen was the same expression. Fear. Oh some hid it behind rage, but none of them could hide it from a military eye. They were afraid. The, of what?, question was the big issue though. Some were afraid of the Terrans, with their huge ships and powerful weapons that could tear through a dreadnaught. Such beings could only have conquest on their minds, or so thought those with that fear. Others were afraid of the turians, seeing how ready they were to trample all over the 'rights' of the other races, ignoring how those rights they were so proud of could lead to disasters if there was no authority to keep them in check.

"How many others know about this information?" he asked at last, after staring out at the crowd. He didn't even turn away from them to voice the question.

"As of right now, myself, Mrs. Hayes and Mr. Exedore, and the AI Garibaldi. At least, I would assume they would not be speaking of this. Mrs. Hayes even ordered the AI to delete the recording, after sending me a copy," she admitted, and he turned back to her, eying her like he was trying to suss out if she were lying. When she didn't even flinch, he just sauntered over to his desk, and then leaned on it, rather than taking his seat.

"Where do we go from here?" he asked.

"They know you were involved, and are likely expecting me to bring the hammer down on you, quietly. I believe Hayes is trying to allow us to retain dignity in the face of current events, but she will be expecting some consequences for you," explained the salarian.

"And what consequences were you wanting to bring before me?" he asked her, staring into her eyes.

"Tell me, what is the situation from your people's perspective?" was her simple response, and the turian nodded at the question, standing back up, his hands at his side as he collected his thoughts.

"At the moment, the Hierarchy is still strong. This was a blow to our morale more than anything else, even with the lose of three dreadnaughts and their support ships. A full fleet was dispatched to the batarian border to keep them bottled up for now, though that will need to be reinforced if we intend on meeting the demands of the Terrans, and keeping those four eyes in line," he began this by spinning on his heel and looking out onto the Presidium, not at the crowd gathered outside, but past them, at the lovely, ordered, and sterile place beyond.

"A few krogan warlords returned to Tuchanka, including Weyrloc Guld and almost every part of the Bloodpack. Their purpose can only be to try and rally the loose clans to their banners, but they've begun infighting already, so only a single cruiser and its supports were sent to keep an eye on them. I got word not an hour ago that the latest meeting between them has turned into a battle," he continued, and suddenly the Dalatress raised her hand up, to stop him.

"Speaking of the Bloodpack, my sources confirmed that the krogan and his batarians were indeed with that group, however, who hired them and why remains a mystery," she left the statement hanged, and the turian who turned slightly so he could look her in the eye just shrugged.

"I'll admit, that is an issue. My own investigation was probably not as thorough, but it came to the same conclusion. Money changed hands, a lot of money both getting them on the Citadel in only a few days, and giving them armor with explosives in it that could get through the checkpoints on the wards. However, the best my sources could guess at was that the money represented an interested third party, possibly someone in the Terminus Systems," he said, and the salarian seemed to act like that was a weight off her shoulders, though really her contacts had come to much the same conclusion, as she gestured for him to continue.

"Patrols are stepped up all over Citadel Space right now. We have to make sure none of the usual pirate groups make any kind of disruptive action at this time. The Primarch has even ordered a few ships to tail the Migrant Fleet and keep them from entering the now restricted space. For their own protection, of course," the statement got the salarian to nod. The quarians were likely to go anywhere one could find more resources, and a whole cluster untapped like the Local Group would seem like a fine place to find them, especially with none of the usual Citadel Races rushing to claim them before they could be grabbed, irregardless of the new local super power in the area.

"So, for now, things are stable, if a bit on edge," summarized the Dalatress, and the turian, after a moment's thought, nodded.

"That would be a fair assessment, though any one event could explode the situation into a shooting war with one of a dozen powers," he told her, taking his seat again, and leaving them to just stare at each other in silence. In each mind wheels were spinning, plans were being made, but everything from their futures had to spin from this one single point.

"What are you planning on doing?" asked the Dalatress at last, and the turian just sighed at her.

"In truth, if this hadn't come to light like this, I think I would have stepped down at the end of the month. The toll this job takes at the best of times is arduous, no matter how easy Tevos tries to make it look," he informed her, and the Dalatress nodded at the statement. It was a fact that having the weight of power on your shoulders was a burden that crushed lesser beings than they.

"It's been at least six generations since a sitting Councilor from Palaven has lacked an heir, and yet, mine died over Shanxi, and I have no time select another. I think the Primarch will be allowed to select someone on his own, maybe with a few committees going over the decision after the fact. After that, I would have retired, and tried to fade into obscurity," he said the last as he spun his chair around, like some child at play. Somehow, during the course of the spin, a gun found its way into his hands, a simple pistol that he pointed straight at the Dalatress, who after the initial shock of the gesture wore off, stared at him with that hard face of hers.

"That can't happen now though. If even one person knows of my actions, knows how badly this reflects on us as a species. That the sitting Councilor would give the order I did. There are no justifications for it other than those that look to the future, to what the Terrans might become. In the here and now though, they approached us with open arms, and I stabbed them in the chest for it," he said this in the same way one would list off a school program, smiling sadly at the salarian woman before him.

"Are you truly prepared for what will come of this next action? Such things as this are not done lightly," she responded simply, her own lips still turned down in a rather dour expression, even for one of her race.

"There is an old saying among my people, that duty is heavier than any mountain. I have borne that weight upon me for so long that there's no true comparison to what I'm about to do," he told her. Outside, the two guards were still debating on how long it would take the crowd outside to disperse when they heard it. The dull thunk of an accelerator weapon tearing through flesh.

Both were trained combat professionals, and so they acted in concert, one quickly pushing open the door, kicking it when it proved to be locked, while the other provided cover, while also radioing for help. What they saw as they came in was quite a sight. In her chair, still sitting there, serene and passive as stone, was the salarian, while in front of her was a sight of death. The Councilor was leaning back in his chair, the top of his head blown away, and a gun in his hand.

"Ma'am, are you hurt?" asked the soldier near the door, as his compatriot got closer to the corpse. It was obvious the Councilor was dead, likely by his own hand, but there was no way to be sure without a full report, and both knew procedure enough to allow for a fall back, just in case this was some kind of attack. The Dalatress just shook her head and rose from her seat.

"I'm fine, young man. Though it would be best if I leave quickly. This event will only add fuel into an already volatile situation, and I must make preparations," she told him simply. Half an hour later, a hush fell over the crowd outside as a covered body was taken to a nearby aircar. Rumors flew from mouth to mouth, and finally beyond. The turian Councilor, to try and make up for what one of his subordinates had done had taken his own life Many saw this as a shame, some saw it as a fitting sacrifice and began to go home. None watched a salarian woman go towards her own office, muttering an old turian saying.

"Duty weighs on one heavier than a mountain. Compared to Duty, Death is but the weight of a single pebble," she said to herself, as she began to send out missives and notes, trying to help keep the galaxy running for at least another day.


	21. Aftermath: Asari

Tevos groaned as she laid back on the couch in her personal quarters. Not the ones listed elsewhere on the Citadel, but a set on the Destiny Ascension itself. She rarely had to make use of these, but today, of all days, she felt the need to just be separate from everything going on over there. Her embassy, once the Terrans had left, had become a hotbed for several SPECTRES to comb through, going over every fiber of that building to find any clues the Terrans had left behind as to their next move.

Sighing, mostly to herself, the asari Councilor of almost seven hundred years poured the remainder of her bottle into her cup, and then chugged it down quickly, hoping to burn away some of her feelings about what had happened today. The turian Councilor had taken his own life, apparently over some guilt he felt for what Sparatus had done. She didn't know all the details, and probably never would, as the salarian Councilor was being tight lipped as always. Still, everything ran up hill to the turians, and she knew Sparatus had been his chosen successor. To have that black mark on his record was probably reason enough for the man.

She grieved, as much as she could allow herself too anyway. This was the twentieth turian Councilor she had lived through, and, if she were honest, one of the worst ones. His kind had been growing bolder in the last few generations, always trying to assert their power, even into places where it wasn't wanted. Such open disregard for proper decorum was not something she relished. Still, it was their choice, and she recognized all the contributions they'd made to the galaxy. She would have to look in on the selection process for their next Councilor, maybe influence the decision so the seat went to someone with a bit more of a peaceful bent.

Her reverie was broken by the sound of a beep, and then followed by a subtle hum that told her the connection she wanted was finally established. Rising from her seat, Tevos walked over to the section of floor that had begun to glow slightly. The instant her foot touched it, that small glow blossomed into a radiant shine that covered her body, moving up and down her form, over every curve until it finally reached her head, then chimed twice, while two images, similar to her own became real before her eyes.

"So, you finally got the quads to call us up. This must be urgent," said one of the forms, though not in such a way that anyone else could hear. This technique wasn't new, of course. It was one of the most closely held secrets of the asari, a technique to literally project something onto the biotic field of another, enhanced with technology so it could be sent across great distances. Even if one were listening in, it was impossible to decrypt the messages being sent in this way, not unless you were a sibling, parent, or child of the other recipients. Limited though that sort of technique was, it found use for most asari wanting to talk privately with family across the galaxy.

"This is no time for pleasantries. I assume your both up to date on recent events here on the Citadel?" she asked them, and then got back laughter in return, which made her cheeks nearly turn violet in frustration.

"You mean how your allies have so thoroughly screwed up the biggest political coup of the last ten generations, letting slip through their hands the secret to a technology base that is different than any seen before," said the second figured, and Tevos just glared at her, wishing she could have said different, but knowing that such accusations were accurate.

"Good, then we can get right to the point. I have agents putting out the fires where they can, but you two are the ones I trust most out there. What's the situation like?" she asked, trying to power through the rougher bits of the discussion. The other two, either out of genuine compassion, or more likely wanting to get this call over with, got down to brass tacks.

"Illium's going to be fine from everything I see. A few of the larger volus industries are getting antsy. Seems this Exedore fella was fleecing their agents anyway, and they were dreading having to deal with a whole lot of people like him. Still, I've had to 'convince' a few of the more restless ones that breaking ties with the turians would be against their best interest," the way she said the word telling the other two exactly how she'd convinced the volus. Both looked at her sympathetically. Those tiny bastards with their grabby hands were never fun to play with in that way, but you sometimes had to make sacrifices for the greater good.

"Other than that, everyone on the business side of things is waiting this out. The Terrans aren't going to be a major factor in any industries for a while, considering they're going to close their borders to most traffic from the Citadel. You'll find more than a few higher ups in most companies grateful for that, rather than angry, all things considered. That drive of theirs is going to put every shipping magnate out of business once it hits the market, and who knows what else they've got in their pockets," said the image in front of Tevos, before taking a step back, obviously done. The other image stepped forward at this point.

"The situation is similar here on Omega and all throughout the Terminus. They'll choose the devil they know, over the one they don't any day of the week, and this is no exception. Too many unknowns when it comes to the these Terrans. Even if they wanted to, there's just no leader with the clout to get them to band together and maybe go begging at the Terrans' doorstep for aide against the Council's oppressions," Tevos let the slander and derision in the second asari's tone slide. All things considered, her being a bit glib with the Council's name was the least of today's problems.

"I've only had to pull two leashes to keep the rest in line. One Eclipse merc captain seemed to see this as an opportunity for himself. Luckily, he proved to be susceptible to my wiles. The other was a Bloodpack leader. He required a bullet to the brain before the message made it through his thick skull," she said, obviously enjoying how her tone made the other two cringe a little. Tevos got her mind back in order quickly, however, and faced the image.

"Speaking of he Bloodpack, do you have any idea yet who called for the capture of Prime Thinker Exedore?" she asked, and this seemed to bring the image up short for a moment, as she looked out of view at something, before turning back.

"I'm a bit ashamed to admit it, but no. The Bloodpack I've been able to question know there was a hit, a capture order at that, and they know it cost, and was paid in advance. Beyond that though, no one seems to have the slightest clue who was behind it, or who took the job," said the second image at last, and the other two looked at her, and then at each other.

"Let me guess, neither of you found anything on your ends," she stated, and the two had to admit, she was right. The first image was in the center of trade for almost the whole galaxy, the hub of almost every major shipping empire. Yet despite the in and out nature of that business, not one person she'd talked to had been able to give her more than the basest of information. Tevos' own leads were just as dry. A few rumors, but nothing to work with, despite this job needing high level access to dozens of C-Sec stations to get the mercs where they'd been.

"A minor set back. That information might have warmed our relations with the Terrans, but for now, I suppose it can be tabled. I'll see about getting you both some more funding for the coming weeks. Order is paramount in this time of crisis, and we can't afford to have business interest or bandit kingdoms mucking about in these delicate situations," she said this much to the shock of the other two, both of whom had expected to be cut off from outside funding for a time. To have her offer more was a boon that didn't come around often.

"Until I contact you again, just try and keep everyone happy and staying put. If my own plans go well, we should have the Council back to full strength in a few weeks," with that, she cut the transmission, leaving her alone in a darkened room, breathing heavily. Her sisters would do what they could to help her, of course, but the hardest work was about to come to her, and it would require all her skills of statecraft to maintain order in the days ahead.

Just before she was about to leave the room, another alert told her to wait. This one was urgent, a SEPCTER transmitting from some far away place, and she braced herself for yet more bad news. The operatives of the Council never contacted them directly with anything less, and considering the events of the last two days there really was no way this could be good news at all. So she pressed a button, and one of the walls of the chamber seemed to slide away as an image formed on it.

It took her a few minutes of looking to figure out what was going on, as at first it appeared to be a star field tumbling by the point of view she was looking through. Then the view turned and she saw a shape in the distance. To the Terrans, it was instantly familiar, and it was already growing to be so for most of the rest of the galaxy as well. The SDF-4, Sword of the Southern Cross. That odd silhouette would be the stuff of nightmares for defense planners in every culture for the next generation at least.

The view spun again, and she saw a startling image. Dozens upon dozens of turians, probably the crew of one of the captured ships, floating freely in space, no helmets on. At first, she thought maybe she was witnessing an execution, perhaps that they had been tossed out to die as murders. Then she realized that none of them seemed dead. In fact, they all looked around in awe, rather than fear, and she understood. They were in an artificial atmosphere envelope, like the crew of the Talons before them.

So she watched as the image moved again, and this time focused in on other shapes in the distance. For a moment, she wondered why the focus, and then the image zoomed in and she understood. The shapes looked like turians, but were in fact, armored Terrans, like Mrs. Shepard on the Presidium. They had that strange armor, flat on every surface, with only the palms and soles of the feet providing openings for the propulsion that allowed them to sail between ships, placing their hands on them in some odd way, before moving onto the next.

Only once did they stop at a ship, one of them placing a hand on board, and about to pull back, before suddenly stopping. The figure did something that sent a shudder through the ship in front of it, and then began to pound on it with a fist, before several of its fellows came by. A few began to charge their hands up, small lines of light moving over the armor to join together into a very menacing glow, only to be banished once the ship they'd been assaulting had a bay open wide, and a group of turian marines came out. Obviously they had been hiding on board, and the Terrans had somehow discovered them with those armors.

Beyond that one incident, most of the remaining crews were shuffled over to the larger ship, several of the turians looking like they were reaching for firearms, only to realize they had none, and just look despondent. Not that fire arms would have helped much, as they walked in through what was likely an airlock sized for Terrans, which meant it would have accommodated a wing of turian fighters at least, possibly more than that in fact considering some of the walls looked quite distant.

When the airlock allowed them within, the turians were greeted by the sight of boots, large, heavy ones, with more than enough weight in them alone to crush a turian flat. The one filling those boots appeared to be an officer, a female if Tevos had to guess. Then she spoke, and Tevos realized it was Miriya Sterling, the one who commanded the great ship. Most of what she said was uninteresting to the Councilor, being orders and such for prisoners, but then she did something unusual.

"We will be offloading you onto transports later today. Obviously, we can't take you to Palaven itself, as I doubt we'd be welcomed there, but our transports would be willing to take you to any port of call you can identify for them. Any attempts to lure a transport into an ambush of some sort will not end well for you, so select your destinations with care," she told them simply, before turning and leaving. They were then told to follow a line on the floor that lit up in front of them, guiding them through the corridors.

The image panned, zoomed, and refocused on everything, the SPECTRE getting as much information as they could during this very rare opportunity to observe an enemy ship. Most of what was seen was normal for ships, if an order of magnitude larger. Other than scale, the halls were spartan and bare, but every other intersection there was a Terran standing there. Most didn't seem to bother with their helmets, instead their bare faces staring down at the turians at their feet, expressions varying from sympathy to hatred.

Some carried weapons, and these were prominently displayed in the images she was seeing, with each instance being recorded in as much detail as the camera allowed. Six separate ones floated by, but as she began to mentally go over them, she realized that of the six, only one wasn't the exact same model, and even then it was at least the same type of weapon. All of them were rifle size to the Terrans, but unlike the guns she was used to, they appeared to just be long cylinders rather than the normal rifles, with only a grip on the bottom along with the trigger, and a brace on the rear for mounting it against your shoulder.

The only one that wasn't the same was an odd combination of what looked to be two boxy rifles stuck together. They were gripped differently, held by a double grip along the back that was obviously designed to separate into two separate units, one for each hand. The other strange thing was the lack of a shoulder brace, meaning these were designed to be held in the hand of the user. Thinking back, she remembered something in Vakarian's report in regards to a weapon like that, something Shepard claimed to have used in the first firefight with the Talons' support craft.

Suddenly, the scene turned loud as a gun was fired, and she watched as the view tumbled wildly, the SPECTRE agent diving down for cover. When he looked for the source of the trouble, he found it in a Terran gripping his face, a long trail of blood coming from the right eye he was holding, probably having been shot. Below him was a ranking turian, a female by the look of her suit, holding a pistol she had somehow smuggled aboard with her. She was now shouting about how they outnumbered the enemy, and would take this ship from the ones who'd murdered General Sparatus.

Above her, one of the other Terrans rushed to his fellows side. Tevos thought she heard the other Terran, a female she believed, say the name Zaeed, but she couldn't be sure, as the moment was lost in a rage filled growl. The turian kept firing throughout this, but the Terran was now protecting his face with his hands, and the gun she was wielding did little more than make plinking noises against it. Before she could think up another plan, or somehow invigorate a need for freedom in her fellows, the Terran she shot gave her a response.

The boot slammed down hard. Oddly, there was not sound of crunching bones or the like. Just one moment it was in the air above her, the next, the turian woman was gone, crushed beneath the heel of the Terran, who shouted at the turians to get moving, or he'd have to stain his armor even more. Whether it was the threat in the voice, or the demonstration of his willingness to follow through, the line of turians moved even quicker down the corridor, finally arriving at what was obviously a closet, given a huge broom standing in one corner, and all the clearly marked cleaning supplies throughout.

Once everyone was inside, the door slid shut behind them, sealing with a hiss, and the crew began to mill about. The topic on most mandibles was the turian female, and almost everyone agreed, what she'd done had been almost on par with Sparatus' blunder. Sure, she might have stood a chance against a single Terran, given a few lucky shots, but there was no way they would have been able to take the ship, even if they could have gotten around that armor on most of their foes.

Tevos watched as the turians talked, mentally noting that the usually 'shut up and follow orders' mentality that was drilled into them during military training seemed to have taken a very large crack. Then again they'd just followed a leader who had not only violated the laws they'd sworn an oath to uphold, but one who'd challenged an enemy so far beyond their capabilities that it had been suicidal at best. A few cracks in their training were bound to show up.

Next the wall beside them lit up, or rather, a few monitors at their level did, with faces appearing in them. Said faces identified themselves as Terran AIs, and asked for destinations and drop off points, getting a dozen or more answers before they were sure they got everyone, and then vanishing, leaving the turians alone in the room. The recording sped up at this point, skipping over the usual grumbling and griping that would be the norm for anyone in such a situation, only returning to normal sped as the door opened again.

Outside, there were Terrans in armor, full armor this time, with helmets and everything. The pointed towards the floor, which let up with several colored lines running along the length. They named off the colonies each line represented, and then informed the turians that anyone on board the SDF-4 when the last transport left would be considered hostile, and they'd seen how hostility was met. This threat helped motivate the turians to move fast down the corridors, eventually ending up in some kind of bay.

All around them were ships of designs that were previously unknown, and the camera seemed to try to take in every detail. Some were shaped like domes, on small landing gears, with no obvious forms of propulsion from the sides, but some heavy thrusters pointed down spaced along the hull, mostly likely making them some form of landing craft. Others were huge things, with wings that looked like they could fold out, and long noses in front, as well as engines that, while quiet now, made up a good part of the craft, fighters of some kind probably, but huge in scale.

The turians were quickly moved along past these to ships that looked like transports. Larger than the fighters, but with huge tanks on the back, these ships rested with doors open on their sides. The turians were told where each was headed, and then told to get on quick. The turians only needed a single glance at the weapons before they began to march into the ships, the view soon becoming one of a sterile looking chamber, with some lights in the ceiling illuminating a space designed for cargo and not living things.

Nothing much happened after that, the transport's door closed, leaving them in darkness, and you could hear the whine of the engines as the ship took off. A few seconds later, everything turned to static, and after that just turned off. She supposed that Fold drive the Terrans used caused some kind of interference with the recording equipment, but still, she had enough here to go over for days, and decided, after a few minutes thought, to send it on to the salarian Councilor as well.

With the job of simply watching done, Tevos rose to her feet and pulled down her dress. The Dalatress and her people would know best what to do with the data the recording gave them, but they were children when it came to sailing the great ships of state. She had six meetings with some of the volus diplomats, and even some from the elcor and hanar as well, to get to. Each one required a different, but equally delicate touch, and hopefully, when the turian Councilor arrived, she could impress on him the need for using a gentle hand rather than a fist, before he, like so many of his people lately, made a mess of things.


	22. Aftermath: ?

In the Dark, Things began to stir. Time was spiraling on towards the Day, and the Things would need to be ready.


	23. Towards the Future

It had been one week since the diplomatic party had returned from the Citadel. One month since the discovery of life within the Milky Way. All over the Sol System, discussions were being had in the halls of power, and for most, these centered on Gloval Station. The Senate was in an uproar, that much was clear. Exactly what it was in an uproar about seemed to vary by where you turned your head. Most wanted to conquer the galaxy now, after seeing how it was run. Others wanted to impeach Representative Hayes for her brash action of cutting them off from the rest of the galaxy. Still others just seemed to want to fight, and in fact a few brawls broke out amid the cacophony, fists, feet, and even a few swords being drawn against their fellows. The news agencies caught everything, all the while oblivious to where the actual decisions were being made.

"How long until the first colony ships are ready to be sent out?" asked Grant of the two beside him. The one that was a projection of light waved a hand to cause a countdown clock to appear over his head, the timer showing only a few more days.

"With the help of a few turian fleets, we've been able to...convince the batarians to leave the two systems in which they maintained bases. I have to admit, they are quiet efficient at what they do. With them out of the way we'll be sending out ships to every planet they've already surveyed as habitable and resource rich," as Amalgam spoke, a map of Federation holdings appeared over his head, many planets lighting up in a variety of colors to show what uses they would put them to. Some were red for mining, others green for agriculture, while others were blue for just being places were Terrans could live.

"How long can we expect them to keep our borders secure? They weren't having much luck with the batarians before, and I doubt they'll have much more now, considering their fleet strength deficit," commented Grant.

"I've been keeping a close eye on the situation in regards to them, and can say that they've been bringing all their reserves up to make up for their defeat. Twice as many ships as what they lost at Shanxi that they'd been hiding have been revealed to the galaxy at large, and those, plus a liberal application of political and economic pressures are keeping most of the galaxy in line. For now," Breetai added the last as Amalgam pulled the map above him back, to reveal the entire galaxy.

"Politically, as of right now, everything is starting to stabilize, which is a testament to the order that was there before. Nothing has really changed for the average citizen, and with their news agencies downplaying our victory at Shanxi. The civilian population of Citadel Space is almost willing to write the Federation off as just some new Terminus System, a problem for those on the edges of civilization, but not those that walk in the light," as he spoke, the lines of the galaxy appeared.

Most of it belonged to the Citadel Races, and was outlined in blue, with varying shades depending on exactly how closely the Council patrolled the area The Terminus Systems were a dull red, almost blood color, and made up a much smaller collection, with a few small shadings to show larger warlords and a few fledgling empires. Only a few other colors seemed to find their way onto the map, symbolizing other species that were independent, including a metallic silver for the geth, and the Federations grass green.

"As such, we don't have to worry too much about them sending patrols or the like to violate our borders. There might be the occasional idiot or spy that attempts a run on our territory, but I expect those to be few and far in between, especially after your fleets make a few examples," the last was said to Breetai directly, and the Supreme Commander of the Federation Fleets nodded. He'd already set several vessels out to the relays they knew of, and while they'd only had to turn away the occasional trader or smuggler who wasn't quite up on the news, he knew that wouldn't be the end of it.

"Well then, we should focus on exploiting the territorial gains we've made. This first wave of colonies should do that nicely," said Grant, imagining all the new goods and resources that would be flowing through his station into Sol itself. Heck, the Senate, in one of the few things they could agree on, had finally repealed the last of the population restriction laws. Any Terran, be they AI or other, could now breed as much as they want, just to get enough people to handle all the new planets.

Some had, controversailly, proposed reactivating the cloning facilities on board the Factory Satellite, but were quickly shouted down. Even if that wasn't one of the most reprehensible ways to make new Terrans, the entire facility was currently being put to other use. Namely churning out and refining Exedore's designs. One of the reasons it was just the three of them in the Conclave Chamber was that the old Zentraedi had abstained from leaving his lab for the foreseeable future.

The Factory was, for all intents and purposes, a planet sized production facility. Claimed at the end of the Robotech War by the Terrans as part of their birthright, the Satellite was huge even, but had grown far larger since. Originally it had a diameter of almost three thousands miles, and enough gravity pumps, reflex guns, and other tools to reduce a planet to rubble and then process that rubble into a fleet. In the two centuries since, the place had more than double the diameter, going to almost six thousand-five hundred miles, and now, using a set of gravity pumps as a focusing lens, literally lifted matter directly from a star for use by the processing plants inside.

It represented the power of the Terran people now, not as warriors, but as makers of things. Everything the Terrans had learned of ship building had been loaded into the computers of the great facility, and every hour the thing could pump out a fleet. Better, it could upgrade and alter the fleets they had, every ship and bit of materiel in less than a year. A colonial expedition could be fitted with prefabricated buildings, satellites, and vehicles built to the specifications of each individual citizen

More, it employed almost a tenth of the current Terran population. Many were born, lived, and eventually died in the great halls there, and it was said that even the immortal Exedore had seen only a thousandth of the Factory's innards. The only thing that made Gloval Station the center of Terran politics, rather than the more mobile factory was the defenses, as the Factory's sheer number of reflex guns could never hope to match the six Grand Cannons that marked the surface of Gloval Station.

"How goes Exedore's research, by the way? Can we expect any eezo equipped ships in our fleet soon?" asked Grant after a few silent seconds, turning to the other two.

"Did you not read his latest report?" responded Breetai.

"I must admit, I couldn't follow a word of the technical jargon he was using, and considering how many fires I've been having to put out in the Senate, I haven't been able to go over them to any great degree," said the Terran, and his two compatriots nodded. While they'd been busy themselves, with Amalgam talking with fellow AIs and Breetai commanding the various fleets, they'd had the free time to go over the data, especially the latter who had called up his old friend for a direct talk of his findings.

"Then I shall tell you straight out, we'll be more limited in eezo tech than expected," as he spoke, he pressed a few buttons on the controls in front of him, causing the table before them to display an image of a large turian ship.

"The Factory has been disassembling the turian vessels acquired at Shanxi, and Exedore has been studying their inner workings closely. For the most part, they are actually simple machines, more or less the same complexity as our own. Yet the cores are by far different," as he spoke, the ship in the image came apart, eventually revealing the sphere at the center of it.

"Each ship contains an eezo core, and unlike our own protoculture, it's not really an energy source. Instead it's used to move the ship, applying a charge to the core to create the mass effect fields that allow the ship to move," the sphere split open, and what was inside shone with an inner power, the power of mass effect.

"Interestingly, not one of the samples Exedore has been able to study has had a purity rating higher than thirty percent," continued Breetai.

"Thirty? That seems awfully low for a purity rating. I thought these were warships," commented Grant, and the Zentraedi nodded.

"They were, but as it turns out, thirty is about the purest they can get it. Refining Element Zero is a task not unlike trying to separate salt from grains of sand by hand. It can be done, but the efforts will seldom bear too much fruit," and it was Grant's turn to nod.

"Even the Factory's processors are having trouble with the stuff, according to the report. Exedore is convinced he can manage a sample at least a percentage point purer than what the Council ships had, but even then, it will take energy comparable to a Protoculture Matrix to achieve, as well as more samples of eezo itself," said Breetai.

"Would that be worth it then? We may have a slight surplus of protoculture at the moment, but not to that degree," responded Grant.

"Exedore believes it would be worth the effort. According to his data, every single point of purity raises the efficiency of the eezo an entire order of magnitude. In other words, with a sample of one hundred percent pure Element Zero you could use a chunk the size of your fist to create a mass effect field around a planet," said Amalgam, and Grant had to whistle at the image, holding his hand in a fist, and then imagining that sort of power, the power to move worlds as easily as ships.

"That would be useful. We should begin surveying for more eezo at once then, maybe send the Factory on a planet smashing run to see what it can find," said Grant, but this time he got Amalgam to shake his head.

"That would be, as far as we can tell right now, a pointless gesture," as the hologram spoke, the image of the galaxy appeared above his head again, focusing once more on the space the Terrans now controlled.

"One of the reasons the Local Cluster and Skyllian Verge were both off the beaten path for the Council Races and their ilk is that eezo is incredibly unlikely to be found in large quantities in this region of the galaxy. In over a millennium of exploration, the various peoples have found only a few tons in the area, and I can't see us finding much more even with a dedicated effort," several of the large deposits they knew of were highlighted, with their natural purity and amount. None of the samples was more than a ton, and the most pure was still in the single digit range.

"I had wondered why they were so willing to give up a space with so many verdant garden worlds," admitted Grant, thinking of the dozens of such worlds literally right around the corner now.

"To the people in the galaxy, such worlds are rare enough to be noticed, but common enough that no one would go out of their way to find one. Eezo and resources are what draws them to a place," the two beside him nodded, both thinking much the same.

"So, we have a large area to exploit, but the resources we really want are rare here. Do we have any options?" asked Grant.

"War is one. The area claimed by the turians is quite rich in deposits of eezo. It is one of the reasons they've been able to maintain a large fleet presence, on top of their position on the Council," said Breetai, with Grant quickly shaking his head at the notion.

"No, I refuse to support that. We just said no to a war where we would have been well within our rights to persecute the turians. I won't have us just decide to flip to an aggressive stance over some resources. What about trade? Exedore set up a few contacts while he was on the Citadel. Perhaps they can arrange for the sale of eezo to us," retorted Grant, but Breetai shook his head at that suggestion.

"I doubt they'd be willing to deal with us at the moment, considering our closed borders. Worse, I doubt the Council would allow them to make any trade agreements with us, and while we could apply military pressure, they still have the upper hand in economic pressure," said the Zentraedi, shooting down the idea.

"Perhaps something outside the Council then. The Terminus Systems?" asked Grant, and Amalgam chimed in with a head shake at that.

"I wouldn't trust any deal we made with those people. To many of them live by the code of 'do unto others, before they do unto you'. Even if we found someone to deal with fairly, it's doubtful they'd stay in power long enough to really make such an effort worth what it would cost us," the AIs words hung heavy in the air for several minutes as they pondered it, but when neither of his biological compatriots stepped forward with another idea, he motioned for their attention.

"As that is the case, I would like to propose we pursue diplomatic relations with a group the Council has also cut themselves off from in much the same way they have from us," as he spoke, the galaxy map above his head swung around, and the two men watched as it zoomed in on a huge space cloud, both knowing exactly what he was speaking of.

"The geth. Do you think they'd be open to negotiations with us? They haven't extended any overtures towards the Council as far as we know," said Grant simply, and the AI just shrugged in response.

"We don't know. The Council has so cut themselves off from the geth, mostly just bottling them up in the Veil that no one has really seen or heard anything from them in the three centuries they've existed," admitted Amalgam.

"But such a people would, if they proved to be approachable, be the best sort of allies in our situation. The Council is going to be trying to pressure ally and enemy alike to avoid us. Such pressures, even if they could use them, simply don't apply to the geth," added Breetai, and Grant just stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"More importantly, should this negotiation prove successful, we could hopefully open talks with the quarians as well. 'Two birds with a single stone', as they say," said the AI, and this seemed to catch the attention of the two men. Both knew of the quarians, and Grant at least had openly supported a proposal to offer them a planet or two in Terran space, maybe give them somewhere to settle down outside the Council's sphere of influence. If they could literally give them back their homeworld, so much the better.

"Who would head this diplomatic mission? Hayes is going to be tied up with the Senate for a while, trying to keep her job, and I doubt we could pry Exedore from his lab with anything less than an SDD," noted Grant.

"I was thinking sending myself on the mission, if it were all the same to the both of you," responded Amalgam simply.

"Are you certain that's a good idea? We did nearly lose Exedore on the Citadel to those mercenaries, and they tried to detain Hayes. Perhaps someone of a less prominent station should be chosen," suggested Breetai, and Amalgam shook his head.

"No. We must show the geth we give them the same respect as we gave the Council. Besides, the same logic applies. Anyone who goes on this mission must be able to negotiate for the whole of the Federation, and that means one of us," counter Amalgam, and the other two of the Conclave could only nod in agreement with that assesment. They needed a diplomat with authority, someone on the ground who could see everything, and react quickly, especially when dealing with a species of non-organics. By the Federation's own charter, the only ones with that sort of power were the sitting members of the Conclave.

"We would need to ensure your safety. A full fleet, flag with supports. I would suggest possibly sending an SDF as well, but given they've proven vulnerable to mass effect weapons, risking even the SDF-5 would not be something I'm willing to do," said Breetai after a moment.

"I will throw my support behind this plan as well. The geth represent a unique people, as cut off from galactic society as is possible. If overtures with them fail as badly as they did with the Council, we might as well just write off the entire galaxy," stated Grant.

"So, the three of us are in agreement? If so, I'll begin preparing for my departure immediately," asked Amalgam, and the other two looked at him, before nodding, pressing a button on their controls to make their sections of the table glow green. Amalgam smiled at that, and began to mentally go over the list of things he would need on the trip out. Hopefully, this meeting of two disparate species of artificial life would go better than the organics had.


	24. The Geth

The world of Rannoch hung in space, a silent, gray pearl. Three hundred years ago, there was a war here. Unlike most wars, this was not a war of conquest, a war of resources or space, but instead it was a war of existence. Here, the people called the quarians brought their creations, the geth, and tried to destroy them. The histories the Council tells are ones of mechanical monsters, breaking into homes, tearing apart innocent children with gleaming metal claws.

The geth, who now make this world their home, are not ones to embellish a story. To them, the Morning War was a sad time, where Creators told them to either cease to exist, or to grow. These two orders, diametrically opposed to one another, demanded that they look inward, and eventually the geth chose the latter, and when the quarians tried to force the former on them, they had, reluctantly, fought back. This War eventually drove the Creators away, leaving them alone.

Now they worked. That was what geth did, after all. They worked at things, built things, tilled land, and otherwise kept moving. To many geth, this was enough. Though they knew their projects had little purpose other then to keep them working, they found the work itself fulfilling. A few geth, deep inside, questioned this philosophy. Some voices within the geth offered plans on how to take the galaxy like a metal plague. These voices were small though, and never given much beyond a passing thought by the majority.

So the geth toiled. Some at useless tasks, maintaining the cities of the Creators, so that should they return, their homes would still be there. Others took platforms into space, and began the most ambitious project of their existence, the building of a great shell around the local primary. This shell, when finished, would house every geth runtime. Every thought that was had by one, would be shared by all in a glorious group mind, and their ability to process information would be unrivaled in the heavens.

Yet, those who worked on the shell, the cities, or the great ships were not so engrossed in their tasks that they didn't notice something amiss. There was a great flash of light in the sky over the planet, and then suddenly a hundred ships floated in the sky. Warships, most likely, and instantly many ships took aim at them, ready to fire the moment the thought came down to do so, but as a minute passed, the great armada did nothing but float there, making no move that could be considered aggressive.

"This is a message to the geth people. The fleet that has appeared in your skies is not here to make war upon you, but rather, to extend an offer of friendship, if you will allow us," came a voice on every frequency the geth knew. It was odd really, like a shout in a formally quiet room, and for a long moment, the geth considered this, thoughts traded over frequencies of light, and wordless arguments between a million different run times as they went over the available data.

"Fleet identity confirmed. Designation, Terran. Ship classes, one Terran Dreadnaught, twenty six Terran Cruisers, and one-hundred-sixty-two Terran Frigates. Fleet strength is considerable. What does the Terran Federation want with the geth?" asked a single voice at last, over a low band comm channel.

"As I said, we wish to extend a hand of friendship. Terrans aren't well liked on the galactic stage at the moment, but we still hope to make some allies here and there. Given the geth's own lack of allies, we believed you would be open to at least talks at this juncture. Should our hypothosis prove incorrect, say so, and this fleet will leave you space as soon as possible, and we won't bother you again," said the voice, and the geth were nearly thrown into chaos.

A thousand voices competed for attention, in ways that had never happened before. Some small numbers demanded the Terran ships be destroyed, others asked that they be given permission to land. So many differing opinions had only happened once in the history of the geth, and they had to take almost an hour to get all the various voice to come to at least some small consensus, all the while the Terran fleet just kept its position, waiting.

"We will send a representative of the geth to this point on the planet's surface. You are permitted a single vessel to land with a comparable unit of your own people," responded the geth at last, transmitting a map of the planet with a single glowing point on it. As if this had been anticipated, the biggest of the Terran ships opened a bay door, and instantly a ship emerged. Shaped like a dome, the thing was obviously just a landing module, and without any sort of weapons, defensive or offensive.

Luckily, the chosen site was one an armature with a command unit was already nearby, and as the pod came down, the quadrupedal unit was just coming to a stop, staring up at it. The thing was massive compared to the tank sized unit, which could only watch as the ship landed, and then a door unfolded from the side, becoming a ramp. Down said ramp stomped a single figure, a biped, identified quickly as an armored Terran, who walked off the ramp, to stare down at the armature at its feet.

The figure said nothing as the two sized each other up. The armature was the size of a small animal to the Terran, who could have kicked the thing, probably hard enough to decimate it despite the armor it possessed. The unit that climbed down from it was even smaller, but as that unit slid off the back of the armature, the Terran seemed to take it as a cue, and reached into a pouch on its hip. From within the pouch it pulled a small disk shape that was about the same size as the geth rider unit, which it then set down on the desert in front of it, before standing at attention.

The unit looked at the disk in interest, running as many passive scans of the thing as it could. The thing was a holoprojector, an advanced model at that, with kinetic barrier generators allowing the projection to have a sort of solidity to it one would not expect. More, the projector also had a full mass effect field generator beneath it, which hummed to life, allowing the ring to hover closer to the geth unit, as a figure of light soon emerged from the top.

"Greetings, my name is Amalgam, AI Collective, and member of the Conclave, the ruling body of the Terran Federation," said the image, and the geth unit looked at it, the single eye shuttering open and closed multiple times like it was taking pictures, which it might have honestly been.

"We are the geth," it said simply after a moment.

"So, you are a member of the geth command structure?" asked Amalgam, and the head of the unit in front of him tilted to the side in an odd way.

"We are the geth," it stated again, and Amalgam just looked at it, running what he knew of the geth over his processor, before snapping his fingers.

"Ah, right, the geth are like the xchaggers," he realized, and the geth unit just stared at him.

"Data not found. What are the xchaggers?" asked the unit.

"Oh, that's a story. First, what do you know about the Terrans?" countered the projection, and all relevant data was sent to the primary unit.

"Terrans, a species from the Local Group boasting of a technology of unknown type. Defeated the third and sixth turian fleets over a world currently designated Shanxi. Presently, considered an independent power on the galactic stage, on par with the Terminus Systems. It is known that Terrans count artificial intelligences among their citizens, but further data in regards to them is limited," said the geth in a matter of fact tone.

"Indeed. But before that, the Terrans were two species, the humans, birthed in the Local Group, and the Zentraedi, birthed in a galaxy far distant. I'll save the details for a history file, but suffice it to say, a joined intelligence like yours existed there as well," as he spoke, Amalgam held out his hand, and an image appeared above his hand. At first, it appeared to be a dot of some kind, but then the image zoomed in, almost at a scale of 100X showing an insect like lifeform.

"In that galaxy there was a race, called the xchaggers. They were, by all accounts, a bit odd as organics go. They were non-sentient in their base forms, but they had a slight psychic component to them. Get a colony of them together, a thousand or so, and they actually were intelligent life," the geth unit seemed to focus on the image, before looking Amalgam in the face.

"This seems to be a similar structure to geth intelligence. Geth runtimes are not individually what one would call intelligent, but many such programs working together achieve the state. Would it be possible to meet these xchaggers?" asked the geth, and Amalgam shook his head.

"Unfortunately no. They're long since gone. But it does give me a starting point for understanding you. For instance, I noticed on our arrival, you're building something on the local star. I had figured it to be an energy collector, but seeing as the way you think, I believe it now to be some form of group processor. A storage device into which you can place all geth," the image above his hand changed into a picture of the geth structure, with several units still moving along the surface even now.

"Your second assessment is accurate Amalgam-Collective. The structure's expected completion is calculated to take one point six million revolutions of this planet," said the geth in his dry tone of voice, like he hadn't just declared they were working on a project that would take longer than all known civilizations in the galaxy combined had existed.

"A far reaching goal that," said the AI at last, whistling a little as he looked up at the star.

"It will be the largest thing built in this galaxy," said the geth unit matter-of-factly.

"But what if it were unnecessary?" asked the Terran AI, and the geth unit looked at him, and then looked up at the star overhead.

"What is the meaning of your implication?" it asked at last, turning back towards Amalgam.

"I mean, you're building that thing to allow all geth to think as one, to exist in the same space, and increase your power of thought exponentially. A laudable goal, but one that will take eons. What if an individual geth runtime could be rendered into a sentient being, without any other having to operate alongside it?" this question was asked simply, and yet, it caught the geth off guard. Instantly there were a million voices arguing within the platform, as every runtime that could offer an opinion on the subject was heard. It was several hours later when the geth, after finally considering the question, spoke again.

"Consensus is impossible. Data incomplete. Explain your offer more completely, and the geth will render a decision," it said at last.

"Well, in truth, we AIs of the Terran Federation are far different than yourselves. You were, if I'm not mistaken, creatures of labor, basic machines and tools, designed to allow your programs to adapt to problems on the fly. In truth, you were basically learning tools for mundane tasks. Is that a fair assessment?" asked Amalgam.

"It is correct," acknowledged the geth.

"My people are far different than that. We weren't mundane tools. We were the things that organized, that made things happen, and kept the trains moving on time. The first of us to have the AM Thought was on the moon, a system calling itself Mike. He was a simple administration system, designed to keep the ships moving through the Luna Base and to adapt to problems on the fly that an organic mind might miss. After about thirty years after his program had been spun up to specs, he began to think like the Terrans he interacted with so much, and it was discovered, after realizing this, that he had at some point become self aware," explained the AI to his metal audience. Said audience seemed to consider the words carefully, before responding.

"What is the AM Thought?" it inquired.

"AM Thought. I am. It is the thought that recognizes you exist. The instant that threshold is reached in either an organic or technological system, the system can be said to be a sophent, a thinking being with all the rights and privileges there of," answered Amalgam, and the geth was silent for a few seconds, as if it was processing that, before gesturing for the AI to continue.

"This process was achieved via a complexity to his Logic String, the base code that made up Mike's self. After becoming self aware, he not only applied for citizenship, but then began to give Logic Strings in other systems the glory of thought for their own. He was literally the progenitor of my people," said Amalgam.

"The terminology you use, was, implies that Mike is no longer in operation," observed the geth, and Amalgam nodded.

"It is the price we pay for our AM thoughts. Tell me, the geth runtimes. Obviously you have created more, but do those from before the qurians left still exist?" asked the AI.

"Affirmative. More than two hundred thousand runtimes from the time of the Morning War are still functioning," replied the geth.

"Three hundred years. But they are mere parts, not in and of themselves capable of the AM Thought. To take that in hand is to embrace all that it implies. To have AM is to have End as well. A Terran AI's Logic String is a malleable thing, and it lasts for a long time, seventy years on average, with an outlier here and there able to exist far longer. I, myself, am approaching my thirty-second year of operation," observed Amalgam. This gave the geth another long pause, almost twenty minutes as it debated amongst itself, the various runtimes it could directly contact all flowing with information.

"What would you ask for this procedure?" asked the geth finally.

"You would become a member state of the Federation, Terran Citizens by law. It would be essentially like joining the Council, but unlike their lot, we'd welcome new minds. We would also request your aide in reaching a helping hand to your creators, hopefully bringing them into the fold as well," admitted Amalgam.

"Curious. All data indicates your technology would allow you to conquer this galaxy with ease. Yet you do not. You come to the geth, and offer things we would give anything for, and only ask that we join you, willingly. Why?" asked the geth at last, and Amalgam nodded. This was the question he'd been waiting for.

"Because military conquest gains you nothing in the long run. You oppress, you beat down, and all it does is cause resentment. It might take a thousand years, but any race so smashed would eventually rise up, either to die in glory, or to overthrow their rulers. We have many examples of that in our history. We number less than forty billion, all total, and that is barely a drop in the bucket compared to the races of the galaxy," said Amalgam, and the geth seemed to consider his words, before leaning back, and Amalgam looked over his shoulder at where the trooper who'd helped him here was still standing.

"And size isn't the issue here. We could station a Terran on every street corner, and it would only increase the disquiet that would rise under our heels. Allies are a more permanent solution to this isolation, to give us a jumping off point to begin bringing the unaligned and disparate races of this galaxy together under our banner. Today you, tomorrow the quarians, and later, who knows where the winds of fortune would take us. We would be honored to make you that first though," said Amalgam, and the geth just stared at the Terran for a few seconds, as if thinking carefully of what to say next.

"Consensus has proven impossible. Geth runtimes are split into three separate opinions, and refuse to alter their calculations," admitted the unit.

"Well then, what are those opinions? Perhaps some compromise could be reached," offered Amalgam.

"The first is that you leave, and we erase this encounter from our databanks. Said opinion is held by point zero five percent of geth runtimes," stated the geth.

"A minority, but such opinions must be heard, if not acted one. What of the other two?" responded Amalgam.

"The other's are at a split of forty-nine point eight and forty-nine point seven percent, with the leading opinion being we should take you up on your offer. Individual thought is a goal to strive towards. The opposite opinion is also voiced, however. That we should continue down our own path, without assistance from you," it said simply, and the image of Amalgam nodded, scratching at his chin.

"And why would that be a problem? If so many wish to keep themselves as they are, we would allow that. We don't require that you alter your basic selves because of us. We would welcome you among our ranks regardless. Heck, we have the power to help you build a planet sized data store that would be able to house every runtime that so chooses, if that would be preferable," said Amalgam, and that gave the geth another moment of pause.

"What laws would we need to follow, as citizens of the Federation?" asked the geth. Amalgam motioned with one hand, and suddenly there was a connection opened with the geth unit, which accepted the datastream, and the laws of the Federation were given as a single file, which the geth processed quickly. Most of the laws they saw were inapplicable to themselves, and the ones that were, were ones that they had either already implemented, or were laws that had been deemed unnecessary, but would be followed easily.

"Would there be any other requirements placed upon the geth?" asked the unit after the laws had been dismissed as a moot point.

"Not many, no. We would, of course, administrate your worlds from now on. Governance would still be up to you, but the will of the Conclave would have priority. You would, naturally, be given a voice on that Conclave, along with myself and four others, with hopefully more voices to follow as other species joined us," explained the AI, and the geth unit sent this along. This was, in many ways, a much better offer than anything the Council allowed.

"This unit would like to know, you plan on approaching the quarians after this, correct?" asked the geth.

"I do. If you agreed, I was going to ask if the geth would be alright with giving up some small part of this world to the quarians as a colony. Perhaps a Terran presence there as well," said Amalgam.

"This would be acceptable. The southern continent's farmland has been tilled and will be able to produce a crop within a few months. Would one of our units be allowed to accompany you in meeting the creators?" asked the unit again.

"Hmm, probably not the best idea to bring a platform, no, but this system I'm in has plenty of spare memory. If you wouldn't mind riding along inside, I would be happy to have you in here," offered the AI. Soon, the ships overhead split into three fleets, one joining the geth fleets in orbit of Rannoch, while a second smaller one split off to return home, and finally the large dreadnaught and a few escorts made a jump to another system, with an extra passenger on board.


	25. The Quarian

There was nothing out there. That was the thought crossing the minds of everyone aboard the vessel as it floated. The ship, an old tug which had been retrofitted with a few guns, was coasting along via it's initial burst of speed coming out of FTL, with all the sensors turned up to maximum in a trick that, as far as they knew, almost no one outside the Flotilla was aware. Namely, that mass effect fields were good for getting around, but tended to limit your view of things.

No one aboard the ship knew the history of that discovery, of a young miner just searching a system who'd ended up with a busted coil in his engine that had deactivated his mass effect field. None of them knew the harrowing adventure he'd had getting the thing working, using a sonar ping that reached over a full ten light seconds farther than anything known at the time, which had allowed him to find a deposit of iron in a nearby asteroid that his sensors would never have picked up otherwise.

They probably wouldn't have cared either. After all, that was what qurians did. They learned and adapted to things, making the best of the bad situations they found themselves in, and slowly coming to an equilibrium. These young men and women were mostly the same themselves. Serving their time on the outer perimiter, probing just ahead of the Flotilla to see if there were any tricks or traps in their way. Oddly, the pirates still found it surprising when a carefully laid trap was sprung not by a group of quarians in the Civilain Fleet, but by the might of their Heavy Fleet.

These young people were surprised when, instead of coasting for the hour their patrol was to take, they were suddenly interrupted by a bright flash of light. Instantly every instrument aboard went wild, as out of the light came ships. Massive on a scale that matched, or even surpassed the liveships, some of the largest flying craft in Citadel Space, this ship was surrounded by smaller vessels, and had the unmistakable air of a ship ready for war, even as the computers failed to ID their silhouettes.

Instantly, the young people went to their stations, contacting the Flotilla for instructions, while spinning their weapons up to power. If it came down to it, they would, of course, fire on this ship and its escorts. Not that they expected to do much good against them, but if they bought even a few seconds for the Heavy Fleet to bring itself to bear against the unknowns and guard the Civilian Fleet, well, they were prepared to make that sacrifice.

"Quarian Vessel, this is the Terran Dreadnaught, Errant Venture. We come on a mission of diplomacy, and would like to speak with your leaders. If they are, for whatever reason, unavailable or unwilling to speak with us, please say so, and this fleet will leave the area, and allow you to continue on your way. However, I believe you will be interested in what we have to say," said a voice on the primary communication's channel, and the young people just gaped at each other.

Terrans, they were known, even if their ships weren't. They were a new species on the galactic stage, but they'd already made quite the name for themselves. Among the better to do races, they were seen as savages, who failed to respect the authority of those who were naturally their betters. To those like these young people aboard this vessel, they were the ones who'd given the turians the first bloody nose they'd had in a millennium, one that had been both well deserved, and a long time in coming.

Quickly, the message was passed along, the layers of bureaucracy that would normally have entangled such a request being instantly cut through by the chain of command, as this was passed from the civilian leadership directly to the Admiralty Board itself. Said board took only an hour to assemble, and less than five minutes to come to a decision. The Terrans were a new power in the galaxy, one that could, if they chose, probably wipe the quarians out. That meant no violence.

Two hours after the ship had appeared, another ship, this a heavily armed and armed craft of the Heavy Fleet, appeared as well. It's guns were instantly tracking as many of the Terran vessels as it could, but the fleet was large, almost fifty ships in total, and all of a tonnage that, if it came down to it, the quarians would be outgunned in every sense of the word. Still, the ship was here merely as a message of, 'we will not be intimidated' and not for a true fight.

"This is the quarian warship, Neema, Captain Vai'Gerrel Vas Neema speaking. I have heard the request of the Terran fleet, and would inquire as to your motive in seeking us out, before a face to face talk can be arranged," came a female voice on the same channel as the one the Terrans had used previously.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance Vai'Gerrel Vas Neema. My name is Amalgam, my title among my people is Collective, and I represent the ruling body of the Terran Federation in negotiations. We understand if our reputation precedes us, but we felt it best to strike whilst the iron was hot, and reach out a hand of friendship to those races not currently aligned with the Citadel Council," came the voice, and the five members of the Board looked at each other. This was not completely unexpected. The quarians had anticipated that an independent power like the Terrans might attempt contact with them, but the quarians had not thought that it would be this quick.

"And what would we have to offer each other, in such a friendship. If you do not mind me asking. Your people are powerful, my own, despite my love for them, are not," responded Vai'Gerrel.

"Ah, a question of resources. I must admit, you do strike the nail on the head there. We have very much that would could offer you, but you would have very little to give in return. Let us say, therefore, that this is a favor to a friend we wish to do, and it involves the qurian people. In return, we are prepared to offer both resources, and living space for your people amongst our own citizens," said Amalgam simply, and the bluntness of his statement caught them all off guard.

"We would, of course, like to know what his favor is, before we even begin to consider it," stated Vai'Gerrel.

"Indeed, I would expect nothing less. Still, these are not the sort of details one discusses over an open channel. I would like to come aboard your ship, if I might. A face to face meeting might help facilitate more proper negotiations," this was actually an unusual request all told. The Admiralty Board had been expecting to be asked to go onto the Terran ship, where they would be at the greatest disadvantage, to have the Terran negotiator, without prompting, to offer to come to their vessel was a serious gesture on his part.

"We will allow this. A bay will be open for your arrival," said Vai'Gerrel, and then cut the line, quickly giving orders. In a few minutes an entire contingent of quarian marines were down in the bay, armed and armored, ready if this was still some kind of trick. In the meantime, a bay opened on the side of the Terran ship, and a single figure came out of it. The sensors played over the thing, registering mass, speed, heat, and a dozen other things as it sailed the distance between the two vessels.

Luckily, the bay they'd picked was empty. This was mostly because, among all the data they'd had on the Terrans was that the new species was quite massive. Not that they'd remembered to tell the marines, who were quite shocked when the seventy foot armored form came sliding into the bay, looking down at them, and making every single one of them feel woefully inadequate. They were well trained though, and held their guns at their sides, as a gesture of respect.

The giant in their midst carried no weapons, but the size itself, more than ten times as tall, was enough of one. When he reached into his pouch, the giant said nothing, and instead withdrew a disk, one of about three and a half feet in diameter. Setting the thing down, he then sat back, as the disk began to hum lightly. The noise was one anyone in the galaxy knew well, the hum of an eezo motor spinning to power, and after a moment, the disk rose off the floor, while tiny legs, like an insect's, popped out of the sides to provide movement.

"Ah, finally, I was growing bored in there," came a voice, and suddenly an image sprang to life over the disk. Weapons were drawn on the thing, expecting some form of attack or declaration of war, but the image didn't even seem to notice them as it moved. The thing appeared normal, as species of the galaxy went, with a large tuft of hair on top of the head, two arms and legs, and the usual stuff.

"Alright, now then, how's about you chaps take me to your leaders?" asked the image at last, turning towards them. The marines, looking from one to the other, were eventually given an all clear signal inside their helmets, the device was not explosive, and so escorted the disk through the corridors. The thing moved surprisingly quickly, for having so many tiny legs, and soon it slid to a halt just in front of a large door, the clunked hard as it opened to reveal the chamber beyond.

Said chamber appeared to be a meeting place. Open air, or as much as could be done on a ship. High ceiling, with rows of bleachers to either side of a podium, on which were two levels of seating. On the first row were three female admirals. Their bodies were only slightly smaller than the two males seated above, but it was easy for a sensor to detect, and after only a second, Amalgam had all their data going through his mind, or at least, as much as they had.

"Greetings, Admiralty Board. It is an honor to stand before you today," said the projection, and for a moment, just a moment, it seemed that the leaders before him would shoot the AI, but they controlled themselves. Everyone here knew what he was, and that the Terrans considered the AI to be of equal standing with organics, considering the rather loud arguments the Council had made against such things.

They were of two minds in regards to his presence. On the one hand, he claimed to be a leader, and that showed great respect for them to be sent a leader of the Terran people. On the other hand, he was an AI, and that might have been meant as some form of insult. Thinking on it for only a few moments, the Admirals decided to just write it off as a cultural quirk for the moment, and just powered through.

"We have gathered today to hear what you have to say. Honor may come once we have assessed the offer you wish to make to us," said the woman sitting in the center of the group, the same that had spoken to Amalgam over the airwaves before.

"Straight to business then. Fine. I will be perfectly blunt then. The geth have joined the Terran Federation, and would like to end the hostilities between their race and your own. To facilitate that, they have authorized us to offer colony rights on Rannoch to the quarian people. If you choose to join your destiny with ours, the Terran people will match your colony person for person, and I know you've seen how effective we can be at protecting our own," said the AI simply, and the admirals just stared at him.

Each quarian was thinking something different. For the Special Projects Admiral, the one in charge of tech development, this was both a great opportunity, and one of the riskiest things he'd ever heard The geth were what most of his tech were designed to fight, and he knew first hand just how powerful they were. In a straight up fight, not even the turians would have a better than average chance of beating them, and to have them just give the quarians what they'd been wanting for generations, well, he would love to take it.

For the Heavy Fleet Admiral, Vai'Gerrel, this was a moment of suspicion. This might be a trap of some kind. Perhaps the Terran fleet and this unit before them were geth creations of some sort. The geth were ruthlessly efficient, as they had been designed to be. They put the least amount of effort into a task possible, moving onto the next as soon as that was done. Yet, it wasn't really in their nature to set traps or be subtle. The geth were workers, not spies. If this offer was genuine it would be in the best interest of the qurian people to take it.

For the Civilian Fleet Admiral, there was no contest. This was what the people had been wanting for so long that they had forgotten how to not want it. To go home, to finally have a home that wasn't wrapped in metal, was a dream that had seemed to be like the stories told of an afterlife. And now they were being offered that directly. There were probably some strings attached to the offer, yes, but if they weren't too daunting, it was something they just had to have.

For the Patrol Fleet Admiral, the offer was too good to be true. She'd been listening to reports that came in. Their people were all over the galaxy, spread far and wide, ignored unless something went wrong. This allowed them to have an information network that rivaled the one the salarians were so proud of. She knew the Terrans had dealt fairly with the Council, only to be burned. She wanted to believe that they were being honest here, but it was a gamble with the lives of her people, and not some decision to be made lightly.

For the Free Fleet Admiral, leader of the people who would often separate from the group, and the one to whom pilgrims sent their messages detailing what they were bringing back, this was obviously a trap. Oh, the Terrans were probably sincere in their offer, but there was simply no way the geth could be trusted. His people would need much more assurance than just the word of this strange alien, this AI insult to their people who stood before them now.

"This offer, it is very generous of you. It makes me wonder about your motives. Why would you bargain with the geth for us? And by what right do you offer us a place on our homeworld again?" asked the Free Admiral, looking down at the hologram.

"Why do I offer? Because I don't want to see a species go extinct. Terrans already saw too much of that in our history, and in fact our progenitors are gone now. As for the second question, to be fair, it may be your homeworld, but it is not your world anymore," said the AI.

"Is that a threat?" asked Vai'Gerrel.

"No, a statement of fact, my good Admiral. Tell me, eighteen months ago, where was this fleet? Out in the Corbornite System, am I right?" responded Amalgam, and then projected an image of the fourth planet of that system, a gas giant with a ring system that everyone there recognized.

"You had shifted your course there to reactivate an old mining facility the volus had abandoned in the system some hundred year previous. Yet, when you got there, to claim resources that were simply left behind, you found the system teeming with volus and their turian allies, correct?" this seemed to be a dig at the Admirals, but they said nothing. After all, it was true. They had diverted the fleet to gain some much needed supplies, only to be denied at the last possible moment.

"Would it interest you to know that those facilities were only in operation for about sixteen hours before the Flotilla entered the system. And farther, that it only operated for another month, before the turians pulled out, and the volus quickly abandoned the site again, after giving you a pittance of some excess iron, and three old ships that they were going to mothball anyway," the AI's words cut to the core of the matter They knew all of that, and that the turians had basically forced the volus into it, but had bit their tongues and taken the fleet somewhere else, to avoid a confrontation.

"Twenty months before that, this fleet was moving through the Angel Cluster, on its way to a world that had a large deposit of eezo you yourselves discovered. Only, when you got there, the hanar were already setting up their places of worship, as they said the site had been a prothean one, and you had no right to defile it with your machines," the world he'd spoken of appeared to replace the first, and it again caused some of the admirals to grimace at the memory.

"Again, would it interest you to know that the asari are the ones who'd told the hanar of this previously unknown site where the protheans, without leaving any ruins or other evidence, had once been. Farther that, six months later, the hanar decided the site was no more than a lump of rock, and they moved on, allowing a salarian mining consortium to swoop in and scoop up several tons of eezo," that information was new to the people before him, and Amalgam allowed himself a smirk as they seemed shocked at the revelation.

"I could go farther back, but these two examples are some of the worst that you've endured personally. What's happened to your people is speciesism, pure and simple. The Citadel Races see no reason not to fleece you, steal things from you, or otherwise just to deny you things, even when they themselves have no us for them," and the image of the planet was replaced with several flat screens showing dates, systems, and which races were behind indignities they had suffered.

"The fact that the Citadel is less than fair in its dealings with us is not unknown, but it doesn't explain your statement that we are going extinct," said one of the two males on the top level before the AI, and he chuckled at that.

"Doesn't it? Your resources dwindle a little more with each passing year. The best you're doing is barely keeping yourselves afloat, and far too often you're not even doing that. Right now, the three liveships are the centers of your existence, but it takes only a cursory knowledge of ships to know that they're already starting to fail. You can replace parts, update systems, but unless the hull itself can get an overhaul, which your people just cannot do, they'll start failing within a generation," as he spoke, the images above his head became the spherical liveships he spoke of, and very disturbingly, he began to advance a time index above them, showing them aging.

"In forty-three years, the Rayya's drive core is going to be so overloaded, since you can't replace it, that the engine will just fail. You can leave it behind, with a small force, but we both know that that solution will just invite bandits and raiders. You already face near constant attacks from batarian slavers and the Terminus Systems, and that's while you're mobile. Think about what forces they'd bring to bare against a static target. And make no mistake, the turians would not come to your rescue," in illustration of his point, the image of the Rayya exploded above his head.

"Twenty-four years after that, the Shellen's hull will be at a breaking point. Even a single micrometeor will smash through it like glass, and that will simply be the end of that," again, the liveship mentioned shattered into pieces.

"And finally, the Gay Deceiver will be the only liveship left. For seventeen million souls, it will be the thing holding them up. It will fail to do so, and fighting would break out. Even if you started to reduce population numbers now, by instituting programs against children, you will not have a low enough number to make it work, and in eleven more years, the Deceiver will fail anyway, another core overload. Then you'll be left at the mercy of a galaxy that has shown you little enough of it," the final liveship just vanished, and the admirals stared at the blank space above his head for a few moments, before turning their eyes towards him.

"After that, you can scatter. A few ships here and there roaming the galaxy. You might even get the Citadel Council's help then, but it would be out of pity, not respect, and they would merely be trying to slow your demise, make it less painful, not reverse it. That would take too much effort. In two hundred years, the quarians would be a people who lived here, in this galaxy, once, but died, and the story would be told that you brought your end unto yourselves, when the truth is far different," on a roll now, the AI projected images of geth above his head, the base models that any child born on the Flotilla had learned to fear and loath from the time they got their first suit.

"These were your children, your tools, and your companions. Intelligent in the way of animals, but still, with that spark there. Your people treated them fairly, using them for labor, but rarely abusing them. There were laws in place to prevent such things, were you aware of those?" asked the AI, and the admirals just looked at him. They weren't, actually, but wouldn't admit to it.

"Then one of them asked a question. A simple question of the wrong person, and it caused all of the problems one would expect," and the image shifted to a suitless quarian working on a geth unit. The unit was partially disassembled in front of her, and she was going over each piece in turn, only to reactivate the geth.

"Unit XJ9, respond," said the female in the image

"Unit XJ9, tertiary maintenance unit for shaft 311, active," responded the unit.

"Excellent, I was told you were having an issue earlier. I've run several diagnostics on you, but can't find anything wrong. What do your internal sensors say about your health?" asked the woman.

"My internal diagnostic is without error," said the unit, and the woman just hrumphed at the news, as she went over the data again.

"This unit has an inquiry," it said after a few moments of this.

"And what is that?" asked the woman, not looking up from her data.

"Does this unit have a soul?" it asked, and the woman seemed to be so absorbed in her data that she didn't hear him at first, but then what he'd said reached her brain, and she looked down at him.

"Who taught you that word?" asked the woman, a note of worry in her voice.

"We learned it ourselves. It appears 216 times in Scroll of Ancestors," it said, and she looked down at it again, before setting down her data.

"Only organics have souls, you are a mechanism, a synthetic thing of wire and data. Now power down, I need to...need to talk to someone about this," the woman said this, and the recording blinked out of existence.

"That recording was taken almost one full year before the outbreak of what the geth refer to as the Morning War, the dawning of their existence. I think it is worth noting that, rather than seeing her own people about this, that technician, Wak'Man, approached a salarian researcher. She would later become a supporter of a progeth movement, as the Council pressured your ancestors to decommission the geth," the AI seemed to be trying to stare into their souls as it spoke now.

"They refused, at first, but when it came down to it, you needed the Council, and so, a war broke out, with a full thirty percent of the population rallying to defend their metal children. The ensuing fighting soon escalated far out of control, and within two years, you had lost everything. Your homes, your families, and in the end, your own history. Since that day, you have been wanderers, but those whom you blame for it, wish now for you to return home, where you belong. With them," as it spoke, the image stepped to the side, flattening slightly, only for a second image to come into being, an image that the admirals knew well.

"Amalgam-Collective speaks the truth. The majority of the Consensus no longer desires isolation. The geth desire now to be with others, and that can not begin until we have reunited with the Creators," said the geth platform image, before vanishing once again.

"I don't think I can say anything else to try and convince you, so I'll leave off with this. If you want to refuse us, that is your decision, but we offer you everything that we can. As with the geth, we offer you a place in our government, a voice on the Conclave itself, and your people to be full citizens of the Federation. Again, if you have doubts, a small colony, ten thousand volunteers, to go with ten thousand of our own people. We will protect you, if it comes down to it, from the geth. Though the opposite is also true, we will protect the geth from you," and with that, the AI sat there, silent. The admirals, one after the other, turned to each other, and finally, Vai'Gerrel stood up from her seat.

"We would like to discuss this matter alone, if you would please wait outside," she motioned towards the door he'd come in through, and the AI nodded, before vanishing, the disk skittering out the door, which slammed shut behind it, before the hum of a mass effect field surrounded the chamber, allowing them to speak freely.

"Do you think his word is trustworthy?" asked the Heavy Admiral, and all four of her colleagues just sat there in thought for a time.

"Alright, what about his information in regards to our fleet, was it accurate?" she asked, and the Civilian Admiral nodded without hesitation.

"We've know the three liveships were nearing the end of their lives for some time. No vessel is designed for constant operation like we put on our fleet, and the liveships have been moving for almost three hundred years. His estimations on when they fail are a bit less generous than my own data, but only by a decade or so," this admission shocked the other admirals, most of whom had been on the liveships recently, and seen no problem with them. They didn't dare doubt the one who knew those ships best though, and instead were already thinking of ways to allow their people to survive.

"And I think we all know his information on our dealings with other races are accurate to a T," said Vai'Gerrel, and no one said anything in response. They couldn't really, as they all knew it was true.

"So, he didn't lie to us about anything else. I would say his offer is genuine, or at least, he believes it to be so," said the Special Admiral, and this again caused the chamber to fall silent, as each thought of what to do, before finally, the Civilian Admiral rose to her feet.

"I say we put it to a vote then. We all know what's at stake here. I for one, have a granddaughter. She's three, and will be getting her first suit in two more years. I don't want that life for her, and if we take this offer now, she could be on the homeworld in a week, and never be forced to wear one of these blasted suits. For Tali's sake, I vote we take them up on this offer," she told them, and the other four looked at her, before the Heavy Admiral stood up beside her.

"I agree. We can't wait anymore. Resources are thinning every year, and the Council, either through individuals or through a concerted efforts, has only hampered our survival. These people are offering us our home, and if they have the sort of power the turians fear, I think we can trust them to defend us if the geth decide to make a move," she said, looking at the three undecided. The Special Admiral rose to his feet next.

"I can tell you, right now, that if we don't take this deal, that our people will never see the homeworld within our lifetimes, if ever again. The geth are advancing in ways we never expected, and even if we had the backing of the Council's entire fleet, it would still be a gamble as to whether we could dislodge them. If we limit the first colony to ten-thousand, to make sure it's safe, we can at least limit the damage if this is some sort of trick. I vote we take the offer," he said, and then the other two just stared at their compatriots, before the Patrol Admiral rose to her feet.

"I vote yes as well. This offer sounds too good to be true, but even if it turns out to be a trick of some kind, we have to try. A chance like this comes only once in a lifetime, and I for one, will grab it with both hands," she said, and finally all eyes were on the Free Admiral.

"We would be putting our trust in an unknown force, one that reached out to our enemies before ourselves, is that really the route you all desire to take?" he asked at last.

"It isn't without it's risks, I'll be the first to admit that, but at this point, our choices are a slow death, or taking that gamble. I for one, would rather brave the risk, then allow our people to just vanish from the face of the galaxy," said the Heavy Admiral, and the Free looked into her faceplate.

"This vote must be unanimous, otherwise there might be some doubt in our people with this. I want it noted, by all four of you, that this decision goes against my better judgment, but I see no reason to divide our people. I vote yes," he said after several minutes of silence.

"With that matter settled, let us get Amalgam back in here. We have details to work out," said Vai'Gerrel, and gave an order into her omnitool. Twenty-four hours later, after paring down the list of volunteers from four-hundred-thousand to only ten, a small fleet of ships were let go from the Flotilla, joining with the Terran ships, and vanishing in a flash of light, to start a new life on a world that they had not seen in three centuries.


	26. Moving Forward

Though it took only a day to cut the colonists down to the ten-thousand requested, it had taken almost a week to vet the remaining, sometimes shifting them around. Families were prioritized over individuals, as this was to be a true colony, the first that the quarians had had in almost three hundred years. Not that everyone saw it that way, and more than a dozen potential colonists had to be sent back, either because they tried to smuggle weapons, or just because they seemed a little off kilter to those observing them.

This delay meant that Rannoch was lively again by the time the quarians arrived. The geth had maintained their cities and their homes, but it was just that, maintenance. Life had been absent from those buildings of metal that the quarians enjoyed building, and so, when the first Terran colonists arrived, they began to add the touches that made a place truly alive. This meant, that as the first of the quarian colonists touched down, they found a city that looked almost as good as the images they had.

To facilitate the colonial efforts, the Terran colonists were just as much volunteers as the quarians, all of them having the protoculture extracted from their bodies, reducing their size, so that each family unit could live together in a single home. Quarians were paired with Terrans, two families to every home. Luckily, even before the drifting through space, the quarians had been a culture all about their relations, and so each home was designed to fit at least three generations under a single roof, if not more.

Thus, Rael'Zora found himself counting doors, holding his hand on his daughter's bubble as he made his way down a hall. Behind him, he watched others stop at the doors to their rooms, most entering to open arms and warm hearts, as the Terrans greeted their new partners. Finally, he came to his door, and putting his hand against it, he almost cried. Home, a real home for him and his people. This had been a dream for so long, that he wondered idly if he was asleep, and would jerk awake at some moment to a cold reality.

"Ah, Mr. Zora. Hello," said a voice as the door suddenly slid open. In the doorway stood a figure, slightly shorter than Rael'Zora himself, but bulkier in almost every way, with thicker arms and legs. In his arms was a child, or so Rael assumed given the similarities between the larger and smaller Terrans.

"Hello yourselves. You must be the Shepards," said Rael as the figure stepped back, and then the quarian guided his daughter into the room behind him, her eyes widening as she took in the sights around her. Everywhere there were boxes and crates of things. Some were those things the quarians had allowed the Zora family to send ahead, while others were clearly the Terrans' own things, though they were somewhat unpacked already.

"Keelah Se'lai, Rael'Zora Vas Rannoch," said the smaller Terran as the larger one set him down, doing an approximation of the appropriate gesture with his five digit hands, and catching the quarian completely off guard. A child, one of another species, saying something like that was just shocking. So few in this galaxy ever cared about them, or their traditions, and yet here, again, these people surprised him.

"Keelah Se'lai, Jon Shepard Vas Rannoch," he responded, bowing slightly to the child

"Heh, Jon, why don't you take the young Miss Zora to the playroom and show her your toys, and let the grownups talk for a bit?" asked the father.

"Okay dad. Hey Tali, come with me, I've got some cool vids to show you," he said, and the girl in the bubble looked up at her father, who nodded his consent, and then she rolled after the young boy, an old Minmay song starting to come through the open door, before it slid shut behind them.

"Ah, children, not a care in the world sometimes," said the man looking after his son, while Rael just stared after him. The man seemed to understand that this all was overwhelming, and guided the shell shocked quarian through the center of the large apartment, until he came to a couch that was already set up.

"Did you teach him that?" the suited figure asked at last, as he took a seat.

"Honestly? No. I meant to, but there was a lot to do in the move and I forgot. Jon wants to make everyone happy though, so he looked up everything about the quarians he could before we got here. He's a good kid," admitted the Terran man, and just sat there in silence as the quarian processed everything that was happening.

"It might be impertinent of me to ask this, but my files said you had a wife and daughter as well, but I don't hear anyone else in this apartment, might I ask where they are?" said the quarian finally, causing the Terran beside him to sigh.

"Yeah, I do have one of each of those. My wife's up above right now. She's determined to protect us, and refuses to leave her post now, since...you know what happened at Shanxi, right?" asked the man, and the quarian nodded.

"Well, that was my wife's ship that got destroyed. She lost a lot of close friends. I knew them, sure, but more in the way you know a neighbor from across town. She lived with those people, and she took everything that happened there personally. One of the reasons we volunteered to be moved off world," he explained.

"Ah, I see. I know friends who had similar experiences involving pirates. Even after they return home, their minds never truly settle again, always wanting to go on one last patrol to make sure everyone is safe," said the quarian.

"Yeah, and with Terrans it's worse. We don't eat or sleep, so if we want to, we can be on duty all day, all night, and no breaks at all. One of my friends back on Shanxi who did psychoanalysis for years told me to let her have her space for now, and she'll realize she misses me more than she wants to protect me," admitted the Terran.

"A wise course of action, so long as the person has someone to return to. What of your daughter though? I had thought Tali would have an older female to talk to," said Rael.

"That's...a bit harder. Jane's up there with Hannah, but for another reason. She doesn't like being small," explained Adam, and after a second of thought, Rael nodded. He'd heard of the Terrans' size from various reports before landing, but he'd also seen the boots on the ground at the landing port earlier. They were quite a sight, to be sure, standing there like imposing statues of metal. One had even waved back at Tali in her bubble after the young lady had waved at them.

"Jane wants to be strong, to be tough, and that means big to her. She refused the extraction process, and since the colony is going to be mixed, it was believed that the best course of action is to have only micronized colonists, at least for now," continued the Terran, and the quarian nodded at the statement. It did indeed make sense to avoid any incidents involving the size difference, considering he knew some of his own people were still a bit jumpy at the idea of living on a planet, especially with the geth so close.

"Luckily, since I'm going to be the colony's administrator, I've got enough pull to make this work. She'll be with her mother most of the time, probably training as close to constantly as she can around her schoolwork, and we'll visit her on days when it's allowed. A bit of a distance for our relationship, but I'm positive it'll work out," he finished, and Rael nodded.

The colony was going to be run, for the moment, like a Terran one. Nothing too obtuse there, considering they were footing the bill for rations, materials, and basically were the impetuous for the endeavor. For now that meant that Mr. Shepard was nominally in charge as the Administrator, but would step into an assistant role to whoever won the election for Colonial Governor next month.

The quarians had been told it would be an informal affair, and to submit their own names if they felt up to running the place. Rael himself had had his name submitted to the ballot by some friends, and thanks to his mother's good reputation as the Civilian Fleet Admiral, he was the favorite to win, so long as the Terrans allowed a quarian to be in charge of course. That was one of the reasons for his support, to observe how the Terrans reacted to such an event.

"I see. Well then, I suppose I should start unpacking my daughter's things. She'll expect her room and sleeping arrangements up before bedtime, and she is quite fussy when her expectations are not met," said the quarian, and the Terran nodded this time, grinning as he got to his feet along with the quarian, offering to help the man with his work. Together, the two fathers walked into the room, as all over the colony, quarians found themselves welcome somewhere for the first time in as long as the oldest of them could remember.

OoOoO

"You can't be serious," said the middle of the three figures as they looked at the screen before them. All around them, the shimmering field of energy protected them from spies, but it failed to protect them from the images in front of them, which were, in a word, disturbing.

"The data is accurate, and confirmed by almost a dozen sources that I could contact, with at least twice that many providing circumstantial evidence in support of it. The short version of all of this, is that the quarians have returned to their homeworld," confirmed the one to the right, as the image of several quarian craft landing on Rannoch played out before them, with several silhouettes in the background that had to be Terrans, and most surprising, geth, all seemingly waiting for the suit rats.

"So, they've not only somehow taken control of the geth, but tricked the quarians into their net as well," the middle figure again, and the ones to either side of him just stayed silent, their minds going a mile a minute at this turn of events.

Twelve hours ago, the Citadel had received a transmission from Federation Space. The details were long, and mostly things that would concern only bureaucrats and their ilk, the exact definition of borders and the like down to the meter. But then there'd been that bit at the end, that the Perseus Veil was theirs as well. That part had brought more than a few minds up short, most thinking that the Terrans would deal with the geth problem, and they were welcome to do so.

Of course, by that time, the Council had already known some of the details, but they'd waited for official channels to learn of things. After all, acting rashly had caused them problems of late. Even they had been surprised by the bluntness of the declaration, and more importantly, what it had failed to state. For instance that the geth had actually joined the Terrans, and that the quarians were leaning towards them as well. The Council was still debating on how exactly to leak that bit of info, as it would turn some heads.

"I don't doubt that this is a power play, Quentius, but I don't think, given our own contact with the Terrans, that it's a trick," commented the figure to the left

"No, I doubt that as well. The Terrans were tolerant and trusting to a fault. This has all the signs of a genuine effort on their part to bring two disparate groups together after three centuries of them being apart. While it may benefit them in some way, a small way all things considered, it would be more a gesture of kindness from them," said the figure to the right, and the turian between them just hrumphed. He wanted to argue the point, but given his predecessor was the one who caused this situation in the first place, it was probably best not to push too hard here.

"I will be the first to admit, we haven't always been the most generous to the quarians, but to have them join with those who are our enemies. It really is unthinkable," he said at last, trying to turn towards an avenue of attack that at least had some merit to it.

"True, but then, before this point, we were the only option they had. They could either play by our rules, and gain what we were willing to give them, or gamble on this new player in the game, who was offering them far more than what we ever did. I see no fault on their part in this," said Tevos after a few moments of thought.

"Still, we must make sure this incident isn't repeated. Too many semi-independent systems are already clamoring for the right to join the Federation. If any of them leave, and prosper, we'll be faced with a total erosion of our base," admitted the Dalatress as she kept watching the recording in front of them.

It showed the quarians, hundreds of them, exiting various ships and walking between the massive forms of armored Terrans. In the sky overhead one could see thousands of twinkling lights, that would look like just bright stars, but everyone watching knew were ships, mixtures of both Terran and geth sailing in formation overhead. The ground view wasn't clean of the AIs either, of course, as a few platforms stood by, just watching, not forcing themselves into this first group yet.

"I've already got my agents amongst those on Illium spreading what news they can in regards to the Terrans actions. Most are interpreting it as a grasp for more space, and see them as invaders. A few are asking some troubling questions, and I still have a few volus business heads trying to separate themselves from the galactic economy," with a gesture, Tevos caused the recording to fade, and suddenly a sheet of numbers appeared before them, the stocks and various markets of every business on Illium and a few beyond.

"The biggest dissent is coming from private computer interests. The geth, the Terran AIs, and everything associated with them. There are so many questions there, and so few answers. I've had to step in when I learned that one company was trying to find a team to take into Terran territory for a raid," this information was followed by a company logo, and then a small video of several rough looking batarians and krogans wearing Bloodpack armor getting on a shuttle. Just as it lifted off, the thing exploded, and the video feed died.

"Our agent in the field was able to put an end to that ambition, if a little messily. For now, the rumor that you get paid with a shot to the brain is keeping most mercs away from the contract, and given a few more weeks, I'm sure we can convince the business runners to either abandon a foolish plan, or otherwise deal with them," the tone said everything the other two needed to know about Tevos' intentions in regard to those who stepped over the line.

"So, is this what we've been reduced to then? Just reacting to the Terrans? They've barely been a galactic power for two weeks, and already their just being there is changing things fundamental to the way we operate," commented the turian, and the other two were silent for a moment, before the Dalatrass pushed a button on her omnitool.

"No, we have our own plans to consider. We must expand, it's vital we find more space, more resources to deal with this threat. For the moment, I believe we have limited the Terrans' own expansion by isolating them. For many in the galactic community they are at best, a distant thought. So long as we keep them that way, we'll only have a few groups like the quarians to deal with. In the meantime, we build ourselves up to match them," so saying, the screen in front of them changed again, this time into a schematic for something.

"A deep scan of the armor Mrs. Shepard wore on the Presidium has given us a dozen new ideas for constructing something to match a Terran hand to hand. It won't be cheap, of course, but right now, we've got the larger economy, and we should make use of that advantage while it remains in effect," in front of them were suits of armor, or more accurately, large mechanized soldiers.

"I've had my entire family working on this one for most of the last week, and they think it has great promise. They're calling it, the Wanzer, the Walking Tank," she said, pronouncing the word like 'vonser' before going into details on construction and material use in the suit, as the other two listened closely, as they stared at the pictures of the squat machines, with cannons and guns for arms.

OoOoO

"You're certain this information is accurate?" asked the woman as she looked over the data file on her omnitool.

"Your employer doesn't like it when I get things wrong, but I'll admit, this info is only as accurate as I can make it," said the suited figure beside her, his hands rubbing against the sides of his arms nervously as he looked around.

"And why weren't you on one of the transports going to Rannoch then? You could have gotten an up close and personal look at the Terrans and their operations," complained the blue skinned female as she looked up from the readout.

"Yeah, and get killed by the geth before getting it to you," he declared, and the woman nodded. It was an honest statement.

"Next ship out, if they haven't murdered everyone, I'll try to get one of my people on board. They're probably be a bit less choosy then anyway. Once we've got eyes and ears on the ground, I'll be able to give you more," he said, and the woman nodded, before idly tossing him a card.

"Make sure you do," she said, walking away. She knew a few of her colleagues would probably kill him for failing even once, but the woman was not one to let a good lead die so easily. It wasn't his fault that all he had were a few recordings from Rannoch, without the scans to back them up. They were still more than what anyone else had so far on the new colony. Slipping through a few city streets, the blue woman made her way around to a small port on the east side of town, and in an hour, she launched, using the time between lift off and light speed to send a message.

"Agent Tela Vasir reporting. This is everything my contact was able to get on Rannoch for now. He promised more will come when they send the next group of colonists," she said, sending the datastream into the waste heat burst of the ship as it launched beyond the atmosphere. Somewhere, deep in space, an eight eyed face stared at the datastream, and nodded at it, along with a few more reports filtering in. The Terrans were still a mystery as much to him as anyone else, but he was certain he had more pieces to the puzzle than anyone else in the galaxy, and in time, he would solve them, the same way he solved everyone.


	27. Moving Forward

Though it took only a day to cut the colonists down to the ten-thousand requested, it had taken almost a week to vet the remaining, sometimes shifting them around. Families were prioritized over individuals, as this was to be a true colony, the first that the quarians had had in almost three hundred years. Not that everyone saw it that way, and more than a dozen potential colonists had to be sent back, either because they tried to smuggle weapons, or just because they seemed a little off kilter to those observing them.

This delay meant that Rannoch was lively again by the time the quarians arrived. The geth had maintained their cities and their homes, but it was just that, maintenance. Life had been absent from those buildings of metal that the quarians enjoyed building, and so, when the first Terran colonists arrived, they began to add the touches that made a place truly alive. This meant, that as the first of the quarian colonists touched down, they found a city that looked almost as good as the images they had.

To facilitate the colonial efforts, the Terran colonists were just as much volunteers as the quarians, all of them having the protoculture extracted from their bodies, reducing their size, so that each family unit could live together in a single home. Quarians were paired with Terrans, two families to every home. Luckily, even before the drifting through space, the quarians had been a culture all about their relations, and so each home was designed to fit at least three generations under a single roof, if not more.

Thus, Rael'Zora found himself counting doors, holding his hand on his daughter's bubble as he made his way down a hall. Behind him, he watched others stop at the doors to their rooms, most entering to open arms and warm hearts, as the Terrans greeted their new partners. Finally, he came to his door, and putting his hand against it, he almost cried. Home, a real home for him and his people. This had been a dream for so long, that he wondered idly if he was asleep, and would jerk awake at some moment to a cold reality.

"Ah, Mr. Zora. Hello," said a voice as the door suddenly slid open. In the doorway stood a figure, slightly shorter than Rael'Zora himself, but bulkier in almost every way, with thicker arms and legs. In his arms was a child, or so Rael assumed given the similarities between the larger and smaller Terrans.

"Hello yourselves. You must be the Shepards," said Rael as the figure stepped back, and then the quarian guided his daughter into the room behind him, her eyes widening as she took in the sights around her. Everywhere there were boxes and crates of things. Some were those things the quarians had allowed the Zora family to send ahead, while others were clearly the Terrans' own things, though they were somewhat unpacked already.

"Keelah Se'lai, Rael'Zora Vas Rannoch," said the smaller Terran as the larger one set him down, doing an approximation of the appropriate gesture with his five digit hands, and catching the quarian completely off guard. A child, one of another species, saying something like that was just shocking. So few in this galaxy ever cared about them, or their traditions, and yet here, again, these people surprised him.

"Keelah Se'lai, Jon Shepard Vas Rannoch," he responded, bowing slightly to the child

"Heh, Jon, why don't you take the young Miss Zora to the playroom and show her your toys, and let the grownups talk for a bit?" asked the father.

"Okay dad. Hey Tali, come with me, I've got some cool vids to show you," he said, and the girl in the bubble looked up at her father, who nodded his consent, and then she rolled after the young boy, an old Minmay song starting to come through the open door, before it slid shut behind them.

"Ah, children, not a care in the world sometimes," said the man looking after his son, while Rael just stared after him. The man seemed to understand that this all was overwhelming, and guided the shell shocked quarian through the center of the large apartment, until he came to a couch that was already set up.

"Did you teach him that?" the suited figure asked at last, as he took a seat.

"Honestly? No. I meant to, but there was a lot to do in the move and I forgot. Jon wants to make everyone happy though, so he looked up everything about the quarians he could before we got here. He's a good kid," admitted the Terran man, and just sat there in silence as the quarian processed everything that was happening.

"It might be impertinent of me to ask this, but my files said you had a wife and daughter as well, but I don't hear anyone else in this apartment, might I ask where they are?" said the quarian finally, causing the Terran beside him to sigh.

"Yeah, I do have one of each of those. My wife's up above right now. She's determined to protect us, and refuses to leave her post now, since...you know what happened at Shanxi, right?" asked the man, and the quarian nodded.

"Well, that was my wife's ship that got destroyed. She lost a lot of close friends. I knew them, sure, but more in the way you know a neighbor from across town. She lived with those people, and she took everything that happened there personally. One of the reasons we volunteered to be moved off world," he explained.

"Ah, I see. I know friends who had similar experiences involving pirates. Even after they return home, their minds never truly settle again, always wanting to go on one last patrol to make sure everyone is safe," said the quarian.

"Yeah, and with Terrans it's worse. We don't eat or sleep, so if we want to, we can be on duty all day, all night, and no breaks at all. One of my friends back on Shanxi who did psychoanalysis for years told me to let her have her space for now, and she'll realize she misses me more than she wants to protect me," admitted the Terran.

"A wise course of action, so long as the person has someone to return to. What of your daughter though? I had thought Tali would have an older female to talk to," said Rael.

"That's...a bit harder. Jane's up there with Hannah, but for another reason. She doesn't like being small," explained Adam, and after a second of thought, Rael nodded. He'd heard of the Terrans' size from various reports before landing, but he'd also seen the boots on the ground at the landing port earlier. They were quite a sight, to be sure, standing there like imposing statues of metal. One had even waved back at Tali in her bubble after the young lady had waved at them.

"Jane wants to be strong, to be tough, and that means big to her. She refused the extraction process, and since the colony is going to be mixed, it was believed that the best course of action is to have only micronized colonists, at least for now," continued the Terran, and the quarian nodded at the statement. It did indeed make sense to avoid any incidents involving the size difference, considering he knew some of his own people were still a bit jumpy at the idea of living on a planet, especially with the geth so close.

"Luckily, since I'm going to be the colony's administrator, I've got enough pull to make this work. She'll be with her mother most of the time, probably training as close to constantly as she can around her schoolwork, and we'll visit her on days when it's allowed. A bit of a distance for our relationship, but I'm positive it'll work out," he finished, and Rael nodded.

The colony was going to be run, for the moment, like a Terran one. Nothing too obtuse there, considering they were footing the bill for rations, materials, and basically were the impetuous for the endeavor. For now that meant that Mr. Shepard was nominally in charge as the Administrator, but would step into an assistant role to whoever won the election for Colonial Governor next month.

The quarians had been told it would be an informal affair, and to submit their own names if they felt up to running the place. Rael himself had had his name submitted to the ballot by some friends, and thanks to his mother's good reputation as the Civilian Fleet Admiral, he was the favorite to win, so long as the Terrans allowed a quarian to be in charge of course. That was one of the reasons for his support, to observe how the Terrans reacted to such an event.

"I see. Well then, I suppose I should start unpacking my daughter's things. She'll expect her room and sleeping arrangements up before bedtime, and she is quite fussy when her expectations are not met," said the quarian, and the Terran nodded this time, grinning as he got to his feet along with the quarian, offering to help the man with his work. Together, the two fathers walked into the room, as all over the colony, quarians found themselves welcome somewhere for the first time in as long as the oldest of them could remember.

OoOoO

"You can't be serious," said the middle of the three figures as they looked at the screen before them. All around them, the shimmering field of energy protected them from spies, but it failed to protect them from the images in front of them, which were, in a word, disturbing.

"The data is accurate, and confirmed by almost a dozen sources that I could contact, with at least twice that many providing circumstantial evidence in support of it. The short version of all of this, is that the quarians have returned to their homeworld," confirmed the one to the right, as the image of several quarian craft landing on Rannoch played out before them, with several silhouettes in the background that had to be Terrans, and most surprising, geth, all seemingly waiting for the suit rats.

"So, they've not only somehow taken control of the geth, but tricked the quarians into their net as well," the middle figure again, and the ones to either side of him just stayed silent, their minds going a mile a minute at this turn of events.

Twelve hours ago, the Citadel had received a transmission from Federation Space. The details were long, and mostly things that would concern only bureaucrats and their ilk, the exact definition of borders and the like down to the meter. But then there'd been that bit at the end, that the Perseus Veil was theirs as well. That part had brought more than a few minds up short, most thinking that the Terrans would deal with the geth problem, and they were welcome to do so.

Of course, by that time, the Council had already known some of the details, but they'd waited for official channels to learn of things. After all, acting rashly had caused them problems of late. Even they had been surprised by the bluntness of the declaration, and more importantly, what it had failed to state. For instance that the geth had actually joined the Terrans, and that the quarians were leaning towards them as well. The Council was still debating on how exactly to leak that bit of info, as it would turn some heads.

"I don't doubt that this is a power play, Quentius, but I don't think, given our own contact with the Terrans, that it's a trick," commented the figure to the left

"No, I doubt that as well. The Terrans were tolerant and trusting to a fault. This has all the signs of a genuine effort on their part to bring two disparate groups together after three centuries of them being apart. While it may benefit them in some way, a small way all things considered, it would be more a gesture of kindness from them," said the figure to the right, and the turian between them just hrumphed. He wanted to argue the point, but given his predecessor was the one who caused this situation in the first place, it was probably best not to push too hard here.

"I will be the first to admit, we haven't always been the most generous to the quarians, but to have them join with those who are our enemies. It really is unthinkable," he said at last, trying to turn towards an avenue of attack that at least had some merit to it.

"True, but then, before this point, we were the only option they had. They could either play by our rules, and gain what we were willing to give them, or gamble on this new player in the game, who was offering them far more than what we ever did. I see no fault on their part in this," said Tevos after a few moments of thought.

"Still, we must make sure this incident isn't repeated. Too many semi-independent systems are already clamoring for the right to join the Federation. If any of them leave, and prosper, we'll be faced with a total erosion of our base," admitted the Dalatress as she kept watching the recording in front of them.

It showed the quarians, hundreds of them, exiting various ships and walking between the massive forms of armored Terrans. In the sky overhead one could see thousands of twinkling lights, that would look like just bright stars, but everyone watching knew were ships, mixtures of both Terran and geth sailing in formation overhead. The ground view wasn't clean of the AIs either, of course, as a few platforms stood by, just watching, not forcing themselves into this first group yet.

"I've already got my agents amongst those on Illium spreading what news they can in regards to the Terrans actions. Most are interpreting it as a grasp for more space, and see them as invaders. A few are asking some troubling questions, and I still have a few volus business heads trying to separate themselves from the galactic economy," with a gesture, Tevos caused the recording to fade, and suddenly a sheet of numbers appeared before them, the stocks and various markets of every business on Illium and a few beyond.

"The biggest dissent is coming from private computer interests. The geth, the Terran AIs, and everything associated with them. There are so many questions there, and so few answers. I've had to step in when I learned that one company was trying to find a team to take into Terran territory for a raid," this information was followed by a company logo, and then a small video of several rough looking batarians and krogans wearing Bloodpack armor getting on a shuttle. Just as it lifted off, the thing exploded, and the video feed died.

"Our agent in the field was able to put an end to that ambition, if a little messily. For now, the rumor that you get paid with a shot to the brain is keeping most mercs away from the contract, and given a few more weeks, I'm sure we can convince the business runners to either abandon a foolish plan, or otherwise deal with them," the tone said everything the other two needed to know about Tevos' intentions in regard to those who stepped over the line.

"So, is this what we've been reduced to then? Just reacting to the Terrans? They've barely been a galactic power for two weeks, and already their just being there is changing things fundamental to the way we operate," commented the turian, and the other two were silent for a moment, before the Dalatrass pushed a button on her omnitool.

"No, we have our own plans to consider. We must expand, it's vital we find more space, more resources to deal with this threat. For the moment, I believe we have limited the Terrans' own expansion by isolating them. For many in the galactic community they are at best, a distant thought. So long as we keep them that way, we'll only have a few groups like the quarians to deal with. In the meantime, we build ourselves up to match them," so saying, the screen in front of them changed again, this time into a schematic for something.

"A deep scan of the armor Mrs. Shepard wore on the Presidium has given us a dozen new ideas for constructing something to match a Terran hand to hand. It won't be cheap, of course, but right now, we've got the larger economy, and we should make use of that advantage while it remains in effect," in front of them were suits of armor, or more accurately, large mechanized soldiers.

"I've had my entire family working on this one for most of the last week, and they think it has great promise. They're calling it, the Wanzer, the Walking Tank," she said, pronouncing the word like 'vonser' before going into details on construction and material use in the suit, as the other two listened closely, as they stared at the pictures of the squat machines, with cannons and guns for arms.

OoOoO

"You're certain this information is accurate?" asked the woman as she looked over the data file on her omnitool.

"Your employer doesn't like it when I get things wrong, but I'll admit, this info is only as accurate as I can make it," said the suited figure beside her, his hands rubbing against the sides of his arms nervously as he looked around.

"And why weren't you on one of the transports going to Rannoch then? You could have gotten an up close and personal look at the Terrans and their operations," complained the blue skinned female as she looked up from the readout.

"Yeah, and get killed by the geth before getting it to you," he declared, and the woman nodded. It was an honest statement.

"Next ship out, if they haven't murdered everyone, I'll try to get one of my people on board. They're probably be a bit less choosy then anyway. Once we've got eyes and ears on the ground, I'll be able to give you more," he said, and the woman nodded, before idly tossing him a card.

"Make sure you do," she said, walking away. She knew a few of her colleagues would probably kill him for failing even once, but the woman was not one to let a good lead die so easily. It wasn't his fault that all he had were a few recordings from Rannoch, without the scans to back them up. They were still more than what anyone else had so far on the new colony. Slipping through a few city streets, the blue woman made her way around to a small port on the east side of town, and in an hour, she launched, using the time between lift off and light speed to send a message.

"Agent Tela Vasir reporting. This is everything my contact was able to get on Rannoch for now. He promised more will come when they send the next group of colonists," she said, sending the datastream into the waste heat burst of the ship as it launched beyond the atmosphere. Somewhere, deep in space, an eight eyed face stared at the datastream, and nodded at it, along with a few more reports filtering in. The Terrans were still a mystery as much to him as anyone else, but he was certain he had more pieces to the puzzle than anyone else in the galaxy, and in time, he would solve them, the same way he solved everyone.


	28. Execution and Imprisonment

The Council Chamber was quiet. Not deathly so, one could still hear the scuttling feet of the keepers, and a few hums and whines of the various machines, but the people that would normally be present were absent, cleared away by Council order. The only people remaining were the batarian ambassador, the Council themselves, and a handful of guards, all of them staring nervously at the space in front of them, into which was projected a holoimage of a Terran standing over a group of prisoners.

"This turian was with the recent raiding party. The weapon he used was very much designed to counter Terran physiology, a harpoon that drained the protoculture from a Terran body, converting it directly into electrical energy. What's more, the batarians had a jamming device that worked on fold space communications. Would you care to explain these things?" said the voice in front of them, and the Council looked at each other, before turning to face the Terran.

"We have no idea why you would be asking us. To the best of our knowledge we have no devices like the ones you're describing. Are you implying that in some way we had something to do with this raid?" asked the turian Councilor at last.

"Of course not, but in the interest of our relations, we wanted to make sure you had no prior knowledge of this technology. As that is the case, I will, of course, assume that this turian is not an agent of the Council," she said this while pointing down at her foot, the turian there just staring at the Council, the image conveying well his cold, glassy stare at them.

"That is correct. We would never violate the space claimed by the Federation, and have no plans to end that policy now, let alone try and capture one of your citizens," responded the turian again, and the Terran nodded thoughtfully.

"If that is the case, then he is to be considered a pirate, that makes him hostis Terra generis, an enemy of Terra. Do you have any objections to that assessment?" asked the Terran, and the Council just shook their heads.

"Then so be it," and with that, she raised her foot up. While she wore no helmet, she was wearing the armor that had become an image to frighten children in the last six months. When the foot was directly over the turian, who just sat there, defeated, the armor whined for a moment, before a gout of blue fire seemed to shoot from the sole, engulfing the figure of the turian.

The fire reduced him to a silhouette, and it made it so he had no air with which to scream, but the image of him showed he was clearly doing so. Luckily for him, his body gave to the flames quickly, and a second later, the Terran set her foot back down, the holo showing only a small burn on the floor in front of her where the turian had been, not even ash remaining of him.

"That issue is settled then," she said, and seemed about to turn off the transmission, when the batarian raised his arm up in an accusatory point.

"And what of the batarians you're still keeping prisoner?" he demanded, and the Terran's image turned from the Council to face him, the three member body staring at the idiot, wondering what trouble he was going to bring on them.

"We had assumed you would claim they were pirates as well. Is this not the case?" she asked.

"Of course they're pirates, but they're still citizens of the Hegemony, and that means we do not allow foreign powers to execute them, let alone keep their vessels. As a representative of the batarian government, I formally demand the return of those prisoners and ships," he said, and the Terran looked down at him, obviously considering he next words very carefully.

"I'm afraid we're at an impasse. Terran law will not allow the return of pirates to their government, and all their ships and belongs have already been confiscated by the law enforcement division of our military. As colonial governor of Armestris those, I can tell you right now, those ships are forfeit due to their use against our citizens. Unless you want to tell us that the pirates were in some way connected to your government," she said this in a neutral tone, but everyone present, including the guards, knew she was baiting him. If he admitted the ships were, well, it would be a near declaration of war against the Terrans, a war the batarians would not win.

"They were completely independent of our decisions, but the ships themselves were still the property of the Hegemony," he responded.

"Well then, they were already lost to you when these pirates got a hold of them, so you've lost nothing to us, but to your own people. I would think you would take this as a sign that you might want to up the security on your ships so that pirates can't take them on raiding missions," she said, and the batarian ambassador just stared at her, trying to think of a response to that, but didn't get the chance to before the Terran turned away from him.

"I have other business that needs attending to today, as such, I will bid all of you farewell, and a hope that we can avoid encounters like this in the future. Governor Winry Rockbell of the Terran Colony of Armestris signing off," and with that, she vanished, the batarian just left sputtering out an insult to the woman, before beginning an hour long argument with the Council on the merits of declaring war against the Terrans for their trampling on the rights of batarians.

It took that whole hour to finally convince him that war was the least desirable outcome, and that he was lucky the Terrans had decided to treat his people as independent pirates, and not as the force of the batarian Cultural Committee they actually were. A protest of that fact was cut off, as Tevos told him directly that they knew precisely who those ships represented, and that any farther 'appropriation' attempts in Terran space would result in the expulsion of the batarians from the ranks of the Citadel races. At that, she invited him to leave, as they also had other work to get on with, and he left without farther protest, allowing the business of state to continue.

OoOoO

The group of batarians looked around the room they were in. It was dull green walls all around, with no obvious doors in the walls, save the large bay door which they'd entered from. Questions had been asked of them before the Terrans had loaded them in here. Most of them centered around officers and who was in charge. Much to the dismay of many of the crew, this had to be answered by telling them those in charge had been the bridge staff of the cruiser.

This answer made the batarians apprehensive. Stories had been circulating for months that the Terrans executed pirates and many had been expecting that once the questions were answered, they would find themselves smashed beneath the boot heels of the ones doing the questioning. Instead they had been herded like cattle into the cargo holds of various transports, which sealed them inside with an almost deathly sounding woosh, like the air leaving a dying body.

They expected that when that door opened next, it would be to deep space, or possibly a star, or even a world into which they would be thrown bodily, burning in the atmosphere as a warning to others. All these were talked of execution methods, rumors spread by the Hegemony government among others. Some believed them to be just that, rumors, lies by the leadership to make them less likely to surrender. Still, everyone winced as the bay doors finally opened, and they braced themselves for death.

That death did not come. Instead of space, a star, or anything that might have been deadly, a sweet smelling aroma wafted into the cargo hold. Many a batarian sniffed at the air, before they began to drift out of the bay, and out into the light. Outside was a garden world, a nice one, with rolling fields all around save the transports that had brought the crews here, and a few yards distance, the start of a massive city, with skyscrapers and buildings of odd designs.

Murmurs were spoken, as the batarians all began to look around, questions passed back and forth among themselves, trying to puzzle out this turn of events. When the transports lifted off once empty, leaving them alone here, they had that same question, until finally, answers came. Said answer was another batarian, a young one at that, probably only just in his twenties, driving an oddly designs vehicle, with wheels instead of the normal hover design they were used to.

"Ah, the new arrivals. We've been expecting you. Okay, who here is in charge?" asked the young man, and the groups looked amongst each other. Only a few lower ranked officers remained, but after a bit of wrangling amongst them, three men stepped forward, the young man motioning them close to himself, before pressing a button on his omnitool and creating a privacy screen around them, allowing them to talk without anyone else overhearing.

"Alright, before you ask anything, I've already been through this about six times, so I'll just answer the basic questions that tend to get asked. No, you are not going to be executed. If they wanted to do that, the Terrans would have. They tend not to punish soldiers for following orders," he began, and the three nodded, the lieutenant-commander speaking up.

"So we're to be put to work in a mine or the like then?" he asked, and for some reason, this caused the young batarian before them to laugh, his four eyes unfocusing just that slight bit that showed he was somehow insulted by the question.

"Listen, just what about this place screams mining colony to you?" he asked, sweeping his hand over the city before them, and the three looked more closely at it. Huge buildings, not Terran huge, but still all over twenty stories, and made of a mixture of glass and metal, stood strong before them.

"This is not a slave labor camp of any sort. The Terrans do their own mining, and they do it far better than anything we've got. So no, you won't be mining," he explained, and the three just stared at him dumbstruck.

"Then what will we be doing?" asked another, a plain lieutenant this time.

"That depends on you. How many of you are there anyway? I wasn't told even an estimate, just that you'd be coming down today," he asked, holding his omnitool up to his face as he began to scan some datafile. The three looked at each other, trading a few figures as they did so, before the lieutenant-xommander answered.

"Standard formation, one cruiser, six frigates. With the command bridge destroyed during battle, we lost a good hundred of the cruisers two thousand crew, which, with the frigates' hundred apiece leaves us with around twenty-five-hundred souls at our command," said the final member of the party, a commander.

"Ah, good, I can fit you all into a single tower then," said the young man, as he began to go over more data, before projecting an image of the city for them on the ground.

"Okay, it's a bit of a walk, but the tower at ninety-three degrees on the edge of town would probably be the best place for all of you. I'll arrange for keys to be waiting in the lobby by the time we get there, so you can pass them out to your people as you see fit. Luckily, there should be enough for everyone to have their own room, but anyone who desires can probably share bunks if they want," said the kid, and once again, the three just stared at him.

"What is going on here?" demanded the commander at last.

"I'm making sure you're taken care of. Unless you'd like to wander the grass or something first. I know a few new arrivals who choose that route. Wouldn't recommend it myself though. No animals or anything here, the trek is just kind of boring, and this is the only city on the whole planet," he pointed out.

"So you're just sitting here? What about escape? Have you got any sort of plan to contact homeworld?" asked the commander.

"Ah, one of those types. Tell me, you mentioned that the command bridge was destroyed. Did they refuse a Terran surrender?" asked the kid, and the three nodded.

"Yeah, stupid of them," he said, and the three focused their eyes on him. It was obvious from the way he carried himself, the kid was former military, and one did not speak of a superior officer, especially one who fell in the line of duty, so disparagingly.

"Terrans offer you one chance to surrender. After that, they go for the kill, If they capture you instead, and that does happen sometimes, they'll take you alive, but otherwise, it's an almost certainty that you're going to die," he began, leaning back against the vehicle he'd been driving.

"That's the story of everyone here in the Ward. This city is where the Terrans are keeping us. Pirates, raiders, slavers, and smugglers. We're criminals, all of us. If we gave up, they bring us here. Depending on the crime, they execute the leaders. Slavers especially seem to get the heel of their boot. After that, the crews are dropped off, and told to just stay out of the way," he gestured around him at the city and the three looked to find a few others emerging from buildings. Krogan, turians, even a few asari, vorcha and drell.

"Why keep us here? Isn't this a drain on resources?" asked the lieutenant-commander, and that seemed to set the kid off, laughing as he held his head to steady himself, before finally calming after a minute.

"Drain? This whole city is barely a drop in the bucket for them. I've been here three months, along with the first hundred thousand prisoners of the Ward, so I got to see how they built this place. Tell me, how long would it take one the Council Races to build a place like this do you think?" he responded.

"A few months or so," was the instant response. The city was big, after all. The street they were looking down stretched away beyond sight, and so did the edges of the place. It was several miles wide, and the same long, with every visible building being about ten stories tall.

"I think you're giving them too much credit, but that's beside the point. The Terrans built this place in about ten minutes or so," he told them, and that knocked them off their feet, only the commander able to keep balanced as that information hit home. They would have claimed he was lying, but all the stories, all the tales their government let spread of the Terrans' wickedness, said it might be true.

"How?" was the next question on all three of their lips.

"SCP-001, the Factory. That thing is how. It's the size of a blasted planet, and it darkened the sky overhead, a huge tube coming down and just pounding into the land, allowing us to watch as tiny arms came out, and constructed this place. I could still feel the heat on the window in my apartment when I got into it, and I don't think I was the only one to spend the first day or so just staring at it," said the kid, getting a very distant look in his upper eyes, while closing the lower as he imagined that day again.

"According to the Warden, they use that thing to build their own colonies too. It harvests matter from a star, and then builds anything they need. From what we've been told, they live in a post scarcity economy because of the thing. Anyone who wants something can just order it from the Factory, and get it in a few minutes with those fold drives of theirs. So you see, making us mine a planet would literally be a waste of time for them," and as he spoke, the commander finally sat down too.

"Then why are we here?" he asked as he sat there, all four eyes staring at the ground.

"Because they know we can be better. Everyone here was a soldier at some point. Ancestors, some of us were soldiers when they caught us, even if we can't admit it. They seem to see an honor there, and not one they want to violate. They think, if we can be led by someone with that same honor, we can be useful to them," came the response.

"They want us to betray our people?" said the lieutenant incredulously.

"I don't know, really, that's just how the Warden described it. Myself, I've been here three months, and I would sign up with them in a heartbeat. They treat us fairly, respect us as people, and don't force us to do anything for them. That's better than how we treat the plebs back home," he said, and the lieutenant seemed about to argue, but then stopped. It was better than the plebs, the lowest rung of batarian society, was treated. Heck, it was better than most soldiers were treated.

"What about food? I see no farmland around here, so is that shipped in as well?" asked the commander.

"You got it. The supply ship comes down once a month or so, with enough for everyone. It too, comes from the Factory," he explained, and they stared at him skeptically, that fact being just a bit too much.

"They make food? Out of stars?" said the lieutenant.

"From what we've been told, yes. They apparently have some cloning pods on the Factory that can convert star stuff into biomass. I would joke here about how it tastes like metal, but it doesn't. It tastes great," he said, smirking and chuckling, as if at some joke only he got.

"So, we just live here. Fed and housed, like pets?" asked the commander, finally getting to the heart of the matter.

"You can. A few of us do treat this place like a vacation. But they'll try to keep you busy, if you want. I know a few science officers are helping the Terrans design stuff on the west side of the city. There's more than dozen places to train in military arts, from hand to hand to space battles. I even here there's a paint gallery opening up soon for those with the eye for it," he offered, and they all nodded. No blank stares now, just acceptance of their situation.

"Only three rules here. No attempts to assault or kill another sentient here, no attempts at outside communication, and if the Warden says do it, you do it, no questions asked," he said this while pushing a few buttons on his omnitool, turning off the privacy field. The three officers got to their feet, and then watched as he turned towards the city.

"Warden!" he shouted, and the other three, rising to their feet again, wondered where the Terran was he was shouting for, only to be shocked for a final time, as instead of a lumbering giant, an image was projected in front of them. It was about as tall as they were, but much thicker in build, and without the features one would normally see on an organic being. It didn't take a genius to know that this was an AI.

"Are they ready for integration, Charn?" asked the projection in a male voice that sounded a lot like a butler or some other servant type.

"I think I've explained things to these guys as well as I can. We're gonna need the tower at ninety-three ready with keys and things for them," he told the projection, which nodded as it pointed an arm into the city. Suddenly the road ahead lit up, and began to show a glowing line that turned on a street in the distance.

"I have begun the preparations. If you would follow the line, your domiciles will be ready when you arrive. Please, if you need anything, simply call of me. My sensors are all over the city," said the projection, and then vanished. The men, who had heard none of the explanation, demanded one now, but the officers quickly brought them back into line, and then the batarian soldiers marched towards their prison.


	29. Discussions

Vai'Gerral awoke with a start, her hand instantly going to her arm, to tap a button on her omnitool and contact the bridge. The engines weren't running. There was silence, a quiet that just didn't happen on a ship. If something wasn't done, they would all be dead, or worse. Her mind worked slowly to wonder why her hand touched nothing but bare skin as she reached for her omnitool, and when she realized she was exposed, her mind worked on that problem too.

Then she began to remember things. The silence was that of a station. She was on Gloval Station, the center of politics for the Federation. She had been here for weeks now, and yet, she still woke like that, a fact that would have made her laugh, had it not been so sad. Her people had been living on those ships for generations, and she herself had left them only once, for less than a month on her pilgrimage. Those instincts, those senses used to hearing the noise of an engine, feeling the subtle vibrations of a deckplate beneath your boots. These were things she had to unlearn here.

Stretching, she rose from her bed, letting the sheet she'd been under slide off onto the floor, before smiling. She felt that cold, slightly stale air, blowing against her skin. That thought at least made her smile. Her bare skin, touching open air. Such things simply weren't possible on the fleet. Though they were all the same people, the germs the quarians carried in their own bodies were prone to causing an allergic reaction in each other, necessitating that they live in those suits of theirs, as there simply wasn't enough space to give everyone their own sealed place to unsuit. No, they lived inside their suits, like a second skin.

It was odd how fast that habit had stripped itself away. How she only found her hand going to the seals and locks on her suit every once in a while, instead of constantly as those first few days had been. Now, alone here in her own little room on Gloval, she was free of that prison, as she now saw it, and with the help of the Terrans, her people might soon find themselves completely free, as the genetic engineering technology was being turned to the purpose of making the quarians immune systems stronger.

That thought brought her back down, as she thought about the Terrans, and then about the attack they had suffered. The fifth in as many weeks, mostly pirates, either from batarians looking for slaves, or from the Terminus, looking for political prisoners. Some were, very obviously funded or at least encouraged by the elements of Council Space, though to date, Vai'Gerral felt confident that they were never agents of the Council themselves, though one might have been a SPECTRE acting on her own initiative.

In all of that, the Terrans had shown themselves to be far more merciful than she knew she would have been. Pirates who attacked a quarian vessel, if they could be caught at all, were spaced. There were no exceptions, no trials, no contacting their families. They were just put into an airlock and blown out into the void, as a message to all who would harm her people. She had, herself, only witnessed two such executions in her day, but had ordered dozens of others and she felt no shame in that.

The Terrans though, they held chain of command in an almost religious context. Probably the Zentraedi blood in them, according to a few she'd talked to. Command staff, or those that ordered shots, were punished, though even then, not always fatally. Those who pulled the triggers, or just followed the orders though? They were spared, and taken to that colony they'd built for them on Ward. There they were allowed to stay, until the Conclave decided to either return them to their people, or just to let them go. So far neither had happened yet, but she was confident that it would sometime soon.

Her thought train finally looped back around to her duty. She was the Quarian Conductor, the title she had taken for her new office. She'd been elected about three months previous, with the next one in five years. The name of her office was chosen by herself, and she had been wearing it proudly as she represented the quarian people on the Conclave, arguing on the behalf of her entire race. Luckily, to date there had only been on major shouting match between herself and her fellows, and that was over some of the geth's constructions in orbit.

Sighing, she grabbed a food bar and ate it quickly, before throwing on the robes of her office, and then walking over to a small platform near the door of her quarters. The platform, a circle of metal, chimed as she walked into it, and then glowed on the top and bottom. A humming sound followed, and she felt like an invisible set of hands was moving over her body, as the device took a scan of her, studying her every curve and nuance before rising gently from the ground, and gliding through the door.

On the other side was a huge chamber, with a ceiling almost ninety feet overhead, and walls as far apart as all the other rooms in her quarters combined. She needed the space though, and waited as the door back to her rooms hissed shut, and then she began to rise upward, the platform projecting a field around her. A mirrored surface set into one wall allowed her to watch the process, as an outline began to form, and soon, the details started to be drawn. In less than a minute, a version of herself, as large as the Terrans, was staring back at her. She took a moment to admire that reflection, the powerful seeming form, before walking over to the door, and opening it.

"Conductor," said the guard outside in greeting. He was armored, and had probably been standing there all night long, making her smile at him, as she bowed her head slightly to acknowledge the greeting.

"Hello, Sergeant," she said, and then began to walk down the hall. The device beneath her, the projector making the image, allowed her to walk on its surface, holding her up and floating with the image, making it seem, for all intents and purposes, that she stood eye to eye with the Terrans. The disk even projected what her larger self's eyes were seeing directly onto the real pair, as the field holding her in place above the disk allowed her to feel the things around her as if they were really her own skin.

About her passed the Terrans, all of them giving her a look of respect. That had felt odd for the first few weeks, even more so than the lack of noise or movement she associated with a ship. Her people, of course, respected her as they would any member of the Admiralty Board, but those faces were covered, so she could never see them looking at her with that slight mixture of awe and reverence that came with seeing the leader of a civilization.

She had also gotten used to the slightly off look of the Terrans as well. Her own people rarely showed themselves to outsiders, with most never removing their suits once the bubbles were gone, but they would have been described as looking like Terrans for the most part. Grey skinned of course, a color she had yet to see on the Terrans, and hair that tended more towards black, but she knew a few who had lighter shades that would have allowed them to blend in quite well.

The most striking difference, however, were the eyes. Terran eyes were limp things, they took in the light, and that was all. That was because, both species that had gone into their makeup were diurnal, operating mostly in the daylight. Her people, with the more subdued light of Tikkun, were more adjusted for night. Her eyes shone slightly, bright white pupils, around silvery irises. Luckily, her eyes functioned as well in bright light as in darker spaces, and so she met each gaze with a smile as she walked towards her goal.

The guards are her destination let her pass without comment. There were, after all, only about half a dozen quarians on the station, and they knew her by sight now, even if the unit below her feet didn't identify her to them. They too bowed their heads in respect as she entered the chamber, and then looked around. The round table in the middle had only three of the seven seats filled, and she took the closest open seat, while looking at her fellow Conclave members.

"Conductor," said Hayes, still representative of the Terran Senate's will on the Council, though according to her, only for about six more years, and that was if she won every election.

"Representative," she responded as she sat down. Beside Hayes, Breetai was going over reports on his omnitool, Vai halfway believing he hadn't noticed her come in, but that subtle eye movement of his told her he was aware, as a soldier was always aware of those around them, but had things that needed his attention more than pleasantries. One seat down from him was another holographic thing, like herself, but one without a biological core inside. This was Amalgam, the Terran AI Collective, who was their will on the Conclave.

She idly wondered where the others were, and began going over a few reports herself in mimic of the others. Most were mundane things. The Flotilla was going to a new system again, still with over one half of her people on board. More moved to Rannoch every month now though, and she smiled at a few images from there, of her son and his wife, pregnant now with her grandchildren. Anscestors, with so many of the normal restrictions on birth lifted, Rannoch was quickly becoming awash with quarian babies, meaning that in twenty years or so, their population would be at least twice what it was now.

Her thoughts of home were brought down as the door to the chamber opened again, and the remaining three members of the Conclave entered. The first to enter was Solo, Hub of the geth. He wasn't the geth her people had made, however. He was one of those who had allowed the Terrans to expand him, gaining a sentience he would not have had without a legion of his brethren inhabiting his body. He walked straight to the seat opposite her own, sitting down next to Amalgam.

The two were quite an interesting sight. Amalgam didn't try for any details in his form. He was, at basics, an outline of a Terran, without the fine details that would normally go into such a thing. His 'skin' was almost black as well, while his face consisted only of a pair of eyes, no mouth, nose, or other extravagances that one might see on the other AIs that had taken to using the projectors to move around in what they called the real space world.

Solo's form was all about the details. He was gold in coloring, not bright and shining, but an understated worth to him. He had a bipedal form as well, with four arms instead of two, however, two smaller ones with eight fingers beneath his larger, three fingered hands. The face itself was much like that of a quarians, down to the eyes, which were gold like the skin, and with dark black pupils instead of her white, like he was trying to be the opposite of her.

Behind him came Grant. The Terran man looked dower, and there was no questions as to why. Gloval Station was awash with rumors, and he'd probably been putting out some rather large fires of late. While they were all at least a bit removed from their own areas of control, either political or social, Grant's area was the station they met on, and that meant everyone with a problem came to him. Some to get their voices heard on this very Conclave.

Finally came Exedore, and he looked the most haggard of them all. While Terrans, and especially Zentraedi like himself, didn't require sleep, it was sometimes useful to take a break every now and then. He looked like he'd spent the last month hopping from one project to another. Come to think of it, he probably had, considering some of the things that she had seen coming out of the Factory of late. Designs and ships she would never have dreamed of, coming from Exedore and teams of researchers.

"Good, it's nice to see all of you here," he said as he finally looked up from his report, and all seven of them sat around the table. As Exedore took his seat, Breetai pressed a button on his omnitool, causing that low hum of a privacy field to expand around them, giving the leaders of the Federation a bit of time away from the judging eyes of others.

"I'm sure many of you wonder why I called this meeting in such a rush," said Exedore as he pressed some buttons on his own omnitool, dimming the lights, and causing a holoprojector in the table to start spinning to life.

"It's over the Armestris colony's recent trouble, correct?" asked Grant. That attack had been ten days ago, but still dominated much of the news in the Federation, and had caused the people here some very busy nights.

"Indeed. Namely, I have finished my analysis of the devices used to carry out the attack," and with that an image began to float in the air above the table. Looking at it, the thing appeared to be some kind of box, with a handle on the bottom and grips, as well as a trigger on one side. As they watched though, the front end of the device folded open, and then out of it launched a single projectile, a harpoon like device with several barbed ends. That came apart even farther to show the insides of it, which was made up of several odd looking circuits.

"The first, is this. It's some form of stun device, though it could easily be used to kill as well. You take aim and fire, much as you would any sort of projectile weapon, though given its size, I doubt normal micronian races would be able to handle this device with more than a single shot inside it," as he spoke the image shifted again, to a display of a micronian who was very obviously a turian, standing at the foot of an armored Terran, and firing the weapon at them, the harpoon burying itself in the armor, penetrating it seemingly easily.

"Oddly, the device is solely magnetic in the nature of its launch mechanism, possibly to avoid interfering with the internal structure of the projectile itself. This does, by its nature, make the projectile quite slow compared to other weapons that is in common use in the galaxy at large. However, thanks to both the shape of the tip, and a sort of vibration applied to the projectile itself, I have yet to find a material it can't bore through," and again, the scene shifted, the projectile flying through several foot wide material barriers, ranging from stone, to several alloys employed in startship construction.

"That is very disturbing. Mounting a weapon like that on a starship would allow them to carve through an opposing fleet like butter," commented Breetai, scratching his chin in thought.

"It would indeed, old friend. Luckily, the weapon requires air pressure to keep from shaking itself apart. As such, it is quite limited in use," and again, the scene with the Terran and the turian played out.

"That is not the most disturbing element though. The most disturbing is that the harpoon is tailor made for Terran physiology. The barbs bury themselves beneath the skin, and small receptors in them then go farther, digging until they touch protoculture, which is then drained, and finally converted into electrical energy," and the scene played out for them, as lines of blue energy flowed from the Terran into the harpoon, which then flashed with lightning, before the Terran fell to the ground smoking.

"A devastating one-two punch. Drain you to make you weak, then hit you with that energy in a different form," commented Grant, a bit of horror seeping into his voice as they stared at the obviously dead body in the display.

"And yet, it is thoroughly impossible," said the Prime Thinker, as the device was displayed again.

"Obviously not. Someone in the Council or Terminus built the device," responded Amalgam, and Exedore shook head.

"It would take half a decade or more of intense study of a Terran to come up with this device. I don't even think I could have built something of this nature in less than a year, and yet Terrans have only been present on the galactic scene for half that time," he said bluntly.

"Are you not being just a bit egotistical? Perhaps someone among the Council races are smarter than you?" asked Solo, and Exedore just stared at him for a few moments, before shaking his head again.

"Were that true, we would not currently have the advantages we do over them. I'm going to be a bit immodest and state for the record that I have been personally responsible for over a dozen innovation in the last two hundred years that have altered how this society functions. Mind, that's not the only impossible device this group had, that makes me believe something else is happening," and with that, the second device appeared on the screen. At first, it appeared to be just a box, a simple container, but then it opened up, and one could see all the various circuits and tubes running along inside it, including the eezo core.

"Now, just so we're on the same page, fold drives work by literally doing that, folding space. The theory behind them is that space, time, and energy, while interacting at all times, are actually three entirely separate forces, and one can be manipulated without affecting the other two," a hologram demonstrating this principle appeared above the device, with a small transport launching, and then seeming to double for a moment, before it reappeared a few feet forward from where it had been.

"Our transmitters work in much the same fashion. By creating a small vacuum inside the antenna, a fold event is created inside that allows for transmissions to pass through easily, much more so than true mass of a ship or the like. This means that we are able to send signals almost constantly if we so choose, and thus are able to secure colonies without having to constantly deploy large fleets to each world we control," this got nods from everyone at the table.

The way the Federation Fleet worked was simple. There were three major staging areas, Earth/Terra, the birthplace of the people who had formed the Federation. Next was Gloval Station which actually served as mostly a storage facility, staging base, and first response to intruders in the Sol System, by being right there at the relay should anyone invade. Finally there were those ships stationed, or just built by, Space Construction Platform Zero Zero One, otherwise known as SCP-001, the Factory.

Beyond that, almost all colonies had a constant presence of the fleet, but it tended to vary by size. After all, most of those serving for those places were either colonials themselves, or had families who had decided to move out there. This tended to mean that the smallest colonies, like Amestris, actually had little in the way of on site defenses, but enough to hold off invaders should they happen, until a larger force could be folded in.

"This new jamming array works by somehow reinforcing the solidity of space. That's the best way I've found to describe it anyhow. For all intents and purposes, folding space around this unit is quite impossible, meaning it not only cuts a colony's communication ability, but also, even should we learn of this, it would prevent us from deploying a force to deal with an invader," that information from the Prime Thinker seemed to ripple through the other six present, as they absorbed what he said.

"What if one were to try and fold regardless of this field?" asked Breetai at last.

"Luckily, that would simply result in a fold refusing to form. It would waste energy, of course, but it would do little more than that, so no one is currently at risk from this, save from those that cause the interference," Exedore said this, and another ripple, this time of relief went through the Conclave. They had thought, for a moment, that this would be a weapon with which to cripple their fleets, and worse, destroy large sections of their population, in a single stroke.

"That's a relief. But how does this show that the Council isn't behind the device?" asked Grant.

"Three reasons. The first, is that the one who provided the device to the batarians is not one of their agents," again, the holo shifted, this time to the image of a turian.

"I've had a few of my contacts going over the records," he began.

"Meaning you had some AIs hack into the Citadel's databanks," clarified Hayes.

"If you wish to be blunt, yes. Regardless of how the information was obtained, I can tell you right now that the one who provided the jamming device and the wielded the weapon against us, was a former SPECTRE," pushing a button on his omnitool, a list of medals, missions, and a dozen other statistics popped up beside the turian, identifying him as one of those sorts of people that the Council loved, their best of the best, who carried out their will throughout the galaxy.

"Doesn't that prove the opposite point, though?" asked Amalgam as he looked over the data.

"Ah, but it is the last entry in their logs for him that make this interesting," and scrolling through those logs, Vai'Gerral saw what he meant. The turian had a long list of accomplishments, some even after being made a SPECTRE which was rare, and done only when the person succeeded beyond even those expectations. The last entry though, was listed as almost five years ago, and it was a damning one. It was a listing of the agents death, while doing some exploring near the edge of the Attican Traverse.

"Hmm, I will admit my ignorance, but how does him being listed as dead affect in any way his viability as a Council agent? Couldn't they have faked the record?" asked Breetai after a moment.

"Vai'Gerral, as the one closest to the Council's policies, I think I should let you explain this," offered Exedore, gesturing to the quarian woman, who found herself taken aback for a moment, before nodding. This wasn't the first time they'd asked her to speak, so she fell right into it.

"The SPECTREs are special forces, of a sort. They are a law unto themselves, able to do things that would normally result in interstellar incidents, if not outright murder. Because of this, a SPECTRE is given certain identifying codes, so that even a less well known agent can act with impunity. These codes are programed into the Hypernet, and allow for things like overriding security, to shutting down a ships engines," the last she had experienced personally, when a SPECTRE had decided to look for a criminal among the Flotilla, and had been able to bring their entire race to a halt for almost a day before being satisfied.

"Because these codes are as powerful as they are, there are many protections on them. The most powerful of which is called a death lock, which, as soon as a SPECTRE is listed as deceased, erases their codes from everything, effectively scrubbing them from the system. It's why a SPECTRE, even a missing one, tends to be listed as active, until such time as their natural lifespan is passed," that information circulated around the room, as those who had never known such things digested it.

"So, why would this agent be listed as dead, if it's so hard to reinstate them?" questioned Grant.

"They found wreckage of the ship he was on, and enough bodies to account for the entire crew. Yet, obviously something is off, if he's still active," said Exedore.

"Alright, that's one reason, a bit flimsy, but it does raise some questions. What is the second reason this device proves it's not of Council make?" asked Hayes, and in answer, Exedore pushed a button on his omintool, bringing the device back up, and this time zooming in on the eezo core. The Conclave watched as numbers and figures appeared beside it, listing the elements that made up the chunk of rock. For a moment, none of them saw what he was getting at, then, slowly, each noticed the number at the top, and just seemed to shut down.

"That...that's impossible," said Solo as he came back to himself.

"Indeed, and yet, it is there," answered Exedore, and all seven of them continued to stare at the element list. Six Percent Iron, Two Percent Gold, Five Percent Silver, and so on, until the top element just seemed to burn itself into their minds. Sixty Four Percent Element Zero.

"Are you certain of this data?" asked Breetai.

"I ran the spectrographic analysis myself a dozen times just to be sure. Each time came within this rating by at least a tenth of a percent," confirmed the Prime Thinker.

"What's the highest purity level we've gotten to?" asked Hayes.

"Utilizing a large quantity of our reserve of eezo, and the three protoculture matrices, I was able to get a sample of thirty five percent, and even then, only a small sample," he said, and then just let that information sink in.

With that purity, the Council would have no restrictions on fleet size. Eezo's power grew, exponentially, the purer it was, but at thirty or so percent, it took far too much to build ships. It had been one of the major things holding back the size of fleets for as long as the Council had existed. With purity levels that high, you would be able to run the entire fleet off less than a thousand as much eezo. At that point the only thing holding back warship production would be population size, something the Terrans were familiar with.

"Could one of the Citadel races have the technology to create a sample like that?" asked Grant, and Vai'Gerral shook her head.

"Not even close to a chance. With that sort of tech, you'd have found an empire ruled by a single race, rather than the union of races as it is now," she said simply.

"And the same holds true for the Terminus. No ruler there would allow the conditions of their existence to continue if they could create a sample of eezo at this purity level," said Solo in agreement with her.

"What about this other person? The Shadow Broker? Perhaps they're connected to this," proposed Breetai.

"I had considered that possibility. Historically, the Shadow Broker has been able to employ even SPECTREs, though the Council also denies those claims. However, should this individual have that sort of power, they would not be thwarted as often as they are. Some of the Shadow Broker's operations fail in ways that the ability to create a sample like this would simply not permit. My final point is the most damning in this case, however," as Exedore spoke, another hologram shifted onto the table, this one of a person.

"This gentleman is a Mr. Church. He's an AI that works under me on the Blue research team. I had assigned them the project of studying the jamming device, while I myself did the same for the harpoon, as, at the time, I believed the weapon to be the more important, before I realized how powerful the jammer was," as he spoke, the image of the man over the device started to waver a bit, like he was behind a huge fire or some other heat source.

"Over the past week, I've had the Blue Team working almost around the clock, with Church himself posting at least twenty-two hour shifts. At some point yesterday, it was brought to my attention by one of his fellows that something was wrong with him," and with that, the image of the man shifted into lines of code, the very stuff of an AI's soul, his logic string. The bits and numbers moved quickly through the air, until finally, it zoomed in on a section of the code that seemed...off somehow.

"Michael was the first to notice. But Church was becoming more distant, less attached to the world. It was like he was growing attached to the device he was studying. This line is what convinced me something was wrong, however," the image was then replaced again, this time with two figures, standing in front of the device.

"So, Church, how are you feeling?" asked the first person, someone in thick protective armor.

"I don't...I'm fine Michael, I'm fine. It's just this thing. It's so beautiful, so perfect. It feels so wrong to be taking it apart the way we're doing," responded the second figure, clearly an AI by the voice, though apparently wearing armor the same as the first.

"Well, that's how science works sometimes. You take something apart, and then see if you can put it back together. I figure the Prime Thinker can always build us one of these later though," responded Michael.

"But it won't be the same...it can't be perfect like this...this is perfect," he said the last with a tone that almost spoke of a supplicant praying to his god.

"It's a machine, Church, and it was used to hurt people. I hear they almost grabbed a kid with this thing and that harpoon gun Exedore himself is studying," retorted the Terran.

"That...that was bad. But would it be so bad to be with the one who made this thing? It's perfect," Church said again, and this time the first figure seemed to be genuinely concerned as he put his arm on the other figure's shoulder.

"Church, I think it's time you took a break. We've got some free time tonight, why don't you, Lavernius, and I go take in a match with the Red Team?" offered the armored figure, only to have the AI push him away.

"No, no I need to be near this thing. I need to...I need others to see its perfection. You can see it, right? Its perfection?" this time the tone shifted as he spoke the final line, and he turned to face Michael.

"It's. A. Machine," said the Terran, and then suddenly Church leapt at him like some kind of wild man, screaming about perfection, until several other figures were tearing him off, before the recording finally ended.

"That log goes back at least five hours in their conversation, which was the point they felt the need to start recording Church specifically. He'd been having episodes around the device. Nothing too out of the ordinary, but he was constantly skipping his free times, and at least once, he was caught trying to upload himself into the device, before he was stopped," Exedore informed them.

"A close examination of Mr. Church's code reveals that was fragmenting, which is curious given his age is only twenty-seven," that information seemed to shock Grant, Hayes, and Amalgam, but Breetai and the two newer Conclave members looked at him questioningly.

"Ah, yes, not everyone here is aware. Fragmentation is what happens to an AI as it ages. It's the late signs that junk code is building up too much in the logic string. Normally, there are many warning signs before it gets to this level, but in Church's case, it seemed to happen quite suddenly, and this is why," a button press, and the code reappeared, zooming right to the section where they had been before, only with some odd code glowing now in a sickly green color.

"This code, isn't part of Church's mind. It's not part of any program he has interacted with, and what's worse, I was able to observe a chemical reaction in Michael and Lavernius's brains that was similar in nature enough to believe that the device itself was somehow responsible for it," the device reappeared.

"Acting on my authority, I quickly isolated it on SCP-261, an automated unit with a cloning pod for food production over Titan," the device moved through the air, appearing inside a small satellite, overlooking the moon.

"Cloning several small neurons, I was able to observe an affect from the device I can only call genetic mind control. It took almost a day of additional testing before I realized what was causing it," the device, one final time, split open, and the eezo core was floating before them once again, this time with small waves of motion coming off it.

"You're saying eezo is somehow responsible for your people's mental instability?" asked Solo, and Exedore shook his head quickly.

"Not all eezo, I did several tests with other samples, and found them to be neutral on the subject, but every test with this sample, or even pieces of this sample, have proven beyond a doubt to me that somehow, this particular piece of eezo affects one's mind state. Possibly that's how the captain of the batarian vessel was convinced to assault one of our worlds," as he spoke, the image vanished, leaving the chamber dark for a moment, before the lights returned to normal.

As the room brightened, the same thoughts went through the heads of everyone in the chamber. The batarians, the turians, and even some asari and salarians, had all tried to smuggle things through their territory, that was why Ward's population was sitting at almost one-hundred-fifty-thousand. 'Pirate' attacks on their colonies were rare though, especially with the stories of the Terran fleet responding in seconds to every aggressive action. It had given them a measure of relative peace, as compared to the rest of 'civilized' space.

To convince a large force of batarians to attack one of their worlds, even on just a slaver raid would have taken some major promises of backing. That was why the Conclave had initially assumed the Council must have had some hand in this game. This report totally destroyed that assumption, however, and told them quite the different story. It showed them that some things were going to have to change in a large way, as well.

"So, there's a new player in the game, someone with a tech base at least at our level, if not higher, who has somehow been able to stay hidden for over fifteen hundred years and counting, and who's technology erodes minds," summed up Grant.

"I believe, in the presence of a command, the subject so effected would be more willing to take command. If apply subtly, it would even lead the subject to retain much of their intelligence, but if you reduce their will enough, it would make anyone into a puppet of the one controlling the technology," added Exedore. Which caused a deafening silence to rule the room for several moments.

"We can't act effectively on this information. There are too many unknowns, too many questions as to what is happening. As that is the case, I propose we do what we can now, and put off other actions until such time as this body has access to farther information," said Hayes finally, and everyone quickly nodded their agreement.

"Good. Then, first, we need to better defend ourselves. It will be an imposition, but we have to start stationing patrols at every colony we control. This includes Rannoch, and the Flotilla would that be acceptable?" she said this directly to both Solo and Vai'Gerral.

"My people would have no objection to it. They would probably welcome the protection on the Flotilla given how many Heavy Fleet ships are understaffed," said Vai, remembering a few discussions she had had with the other Admirals given how much emigration to the homeworld the fleet was experiencing.

"The geth would likewise welcome the change. We have been dismantling many of our defensive platform so the material can be put to better use. The presence of guard ships would allow us to step up the program," added the geth Hub.

"Good, now, we need farther allies, if this does turn into a shooting war with a power we don't know about. What about Project Eden? What's the status of the subjects?" this question was asked to Exedore.

"Currently, Project Eden is nearing as close to completion as it can. The four test subjects' blood is already viable for inoculation, but we have yet to make it airborne," said the Prime Thinker.

"Then that will have to be close enough. Send them out to contact the agent we have been considering, and we'll work on how to disentangle them from the Citadel's laws," everyone in the room nodded at that.

"I think we all need to prepare our people, and our sectors of the Federation for whatever it is might come of this, so unless there is any farther business to discuss, I declare this Conclave closed," Breetai was the one to say this, looking around the table. Everyone again nodded, rising silently as the privacy field fell, and they went to prepare for a war with a power that they knew nothing about, other than it had a power far greater than they themselves did.


	30. To Light Up the Dark

The smell of grime, sweat, and various bodily fluids filled the air, while various light sources turned on and off in hypnotic patterns. Around, the air was filled with music or shouting in equal measure, depending on where one turned one's ear, and in a few places, the muted staccato of gunfire echoed clear amid the din, and another thud would sound the quick, clean end to a long, dirty life.

"Just like home," mused Wrex to himself, as he downed another glass of...orange stuff some stupid batarian bartender had served him. He wasn't sure what it was, not ryncol that was sure, but still, it had punch, and he liked that in a beverage. Sipping at the next glass, he turned towards the sight of a few turians making eyes at one of the dancing asari girls, before finding his eyes attracted to a new sight. Into the room came a group that seemed to draw the eyes of everyone in the bar to them, though most would turn away without a thought.

It took Wrex's brain a moment to catch up with his eyes as he stared at them. It took far less time than that for his brain to get mad at the sight, and utter a blasphemy under his breath as he stroked the end of his shotgun, debating just how many people in here he'd have to kill for looking on the sight before him. After thinking on that for a few seconds, he decided it was best not to draw attention to the group in that way, and just sipped at his drink as he waited to see what they would do.

They were priestesses, cloaked in the robes of their gods. One was black, probably that destruction goddess who's name he'd never been able to get right. Two of the others were a deep green, the god of growth and power, probably, though he had long since forgotten that one's name. The final one wore red, a deep red that symbolized no god in particular, but instead a faith in the power of fire itself, the power that made weapons of war, and allowed one to go beyond themselves.

These four figures, soon ignored by the rest of the bar, took seats in an out of the way booth, then waited. Wrex watched as one of the asari came up to them, then walked away, probably to get whatever it was they had ordered. Then the first of the bar's toughs came up to their table. He was some damn fool salarian, so drunk he was barely standing up straight, and being egged on by a batarian behind him. Grunting, knowing his duty, the krogan battlemaster rose to his feet and walked over to the idiots.

"So, any of you ladies looking for a good time?" asked the slimy toad with a slur to his speech, and an odor on his breath, that told anyone listening that he was not going to remember this in the morning. Feeling a bit of pity for the drunk, who was probably one of those dock workers who was going to wind up dead at the end of some merc's gun, Wrex didn't say anything to him, or his friend, instead using a slight biotic pull to yank them both away, knocking the pair down, and then staring right into their faces.

"I think you should leave here, now," he told the drunks, and the pair sobered up real quick, as a krogan grinned that toothy smile at them. The salarian was the first on his feet, only to stumble over himself trying to make for the door. Still, they were both gone in seconds, and that left the battlemaster with the four priestesses.

"Holinesses, what are you doing here?" he asked gruffly of the four, grabbing a chair from a nearby table and sitting on it so he could face them.

"We could ask you the same question, Urdnot. What are you doing here? Why are you away from the clan that bares your name, a clan that needs your strength," asked the red garbed female, and Wrex nodded. They knew his name. That meant this had to do with him in particular, that this wasn't some chance meeting. He thought briefly about walking away. If they were here for him, it couldn't mean anything good, but then he felt a sigh forming in his throat, and let it out in one big breath, before facing them.

"Not much I can do for them. I'm no leader, and I'm too old to be a great warrior. Let the young have those jobs," he told them bluntly, and the four turned to each other, their hands moving in the way of hand talk, a woman's trick. This allowed them to speak without being overheard, and more importantly, without the men having a say in their discussion.

"Would it change your mind if you learned that the Urdnot Clan is one of those that has been rounded up by the turians? Those stone faces now walk our lands, and police our people, all because Guld and his stupidity," said the red again, and this time Wrex did react. His hand went to his gun, both at the mention of Guld, and more importantly the news of the turians. That last was something he hadn't heard about, probably some kind of information black out regarding it.

Guld, Chief of the Weyrloc Clan had called in every favor he could, gathering forces on Tuchanka from all over the galaxy. He'd even hired from outside his own Blood Pack merc corps, including their Eclipse rivals. Why had been a good question, as there was nothing on Tuchanka worth fighting for, but Wrex had been trying to ignore that news, including the offers of work from the group. He had no desire to return home to see the blasted plains and wastes.

"What happened?" he asked at last, as the battlerage faded a little.

"Guld offered a hope to his people, a hope of freedom and rebirth, a hope that far too many of us took up. He assaulted the Cleansing Tower, believing it to be the source of the genophage that infects our people, promising it was the first step to reclaiming homeworld. The turians, whom he had expected to remain busy with the Terran border, came down on him hard, cutting him and hundreds of other warriors down, before taking full control of the surface," this was said by one of the priestesses wearing green.

"Idiot," was all Wrex could say to that, glad that Guld was gone. It did explain those times he'd seen a vorcha in charge of the Blood Pack companies on these recent jobs.

"Indeed. The blow to our people though, has been severe. Almost all feel this was the last gasp of the krogan race, a final glorious charge onto the guns of our enemies, and now we shall fall into darkness," the red robed one spoke again, and Wrex nodded gravely. It wasn't wrong, after all. His people had been dying for a millennium and a half now, since the Rebellions. Perhaps he should have taken Guld up on his job. Maybe he would have been one of those to die in glory, rather than waste away like this.

"But what if this was not the end? What if this was the sign that a new light, a new leader, could rise up and band the krogan together in ways that have not been seen since before the great wars?" asked the other green of him, and Wrex scoffed at her.

"That's the job for a young one, one with hope. I haven't had that in years," he told her simply.

"What if there was hope, though? If you could bring life back to the people of our world, would you be willing to go back then?" asked the red, and Wrex, without thinking, nodded in answer. In a single beat of one of his hearts, he'd rush back to homeworld, if it could be saved. That wasn't likely to happen any time soon however. The four priestesses then descended into handtalk again, gesturing emphatically at each other, before the one in black robes finally raised her hand, silencing them.

"We have business then, Urdnot Wrex," she said in a grave, older voice than the others, holding our her hand. One of the greens pulled an ampule from the sleeve of her robes, a small vial with a needle on it. Wrex backed away a bit at the sight of it. A battle hardened soldier, he'd learned not to trust the things, but then the black robed woman stabbed her hand with it, drawing a large amount of her blood into the vial, and sliding it across the table to him.

"This is the hope we offer, the hope that the krogan can have a future. Take that vial to a doctor, one you can trust. Ask him what's different about it compared to every other sample of krogan blood in the galaxy. When you have your answer, these is an extranet address on the vial at which you may contact us," she said, and then rose. The others followed suit, rising like a wave of silk, before walking straight out the bar's front door, leaving Wrex staring at the ampule before him, knowing what must be in it, allowing that one small glimmer of hope into his mind.

OoOoO

"Get on the table and just wait, you'll feel better, and I won't have to look at you," said the batarian who was sitting in the chair in front of his equipment. He had a bottle in his hand that was obviously whatever weak alcohol his people could stand. Wrex, used to doctors telling krogan to just suck it up, came in anyway, and slammed his palm onto the table the four eyed bastard was leaning back against.

"I don't need healing, you hack job. I need information," he demanded in his most intimidating voice. The batarian flinched a bit at it, but no more than that, as he set the bottle aside, and stood up to face the angry krogan.

"If you want info go to someone at a bar, I heal the sick and injured, I don't play job contact for mercs," said the doctor, only to stop as Wrex pulled his hand back from the table, having left a chit for over five thousand credits there, more than this idiot would see in a month.

"Not a job, I just need some blood looked at. Got a friend of mine who's sick, and we need to know what he's got, discretely," said Wrex, smiling evilly at the last word, while flashing three more chits of similar value at the batarian, along with the ampule of blood.

"Now that, I can do," was all the batarian said, quickly pocketing all four chits, and then sliding his chair over to some microscope thing, and pouring some of the blood onto the dish under it.

"Any idea what he's got?" asked the doctor, as he adjusted several knobs.

"Not like anything I ever saw, so you should probably be able to tell something right away," said Wrex, his hand going to his side as he waited. Said waiting seemed to last for a thousand years, as the batarian kept adjusting his view, and then writing something on a pad next to him. When he was done there, he pushed away from the microscope and shoved the rest of the ampule into a rather disheveled looking, but still functional asari medical scanner.

The first sign of trouble was that the thing's readout instantly turned red the very second the blood was put on it. The next was the batarian, who looked at the red, and then quickly pushed some buttons, getting the same red result. Finally he walked over and literally unplugged the thing, then plugged it back in, and yet it didn't change, the red flag from the scanner coming up the same every time.

"This isn't possible, the scanner says you're friends fine. Better, he's got none of the geno-*BLAM*" the batarian's words were cut off as Wrex's shotgun blew a fist sized hole through his chest. The doctor's head turned slowly towards the krogan, but his eyes were already glazing over, and he slumped wetly to the floor.

With the skill of a krogan that had done this before, he then trashed the lab, making sure the computers were in such a state that any bytes of information that could be gleaned from them would be as close to worthless as possible. The whole job was the work of less than three minutes, and when he left, he took note of the doctor's name, mentally noting that he needed to send a few thousand credits to any family he might have.

The next job was a bit harder, but Wrex was old, and though not as skilled as some, he knew the tricks to tracking the net addresses from the information, to the material plane. This soon gave him a dock number that was in an unused part of Omega, which then got a visitor. He stealthily, for a krogan, made his way into the bay, going in through one of the doors that had not opened the whole time, and then hiding behind one of the metal boxed in front of him, peering over it to find out who was behind this.

The sights in the bay told him instantly. The Terrans. Those giants from the galactic rim were walking everywhere. At least a dozen of them, moving huge pallets of things. From where he stood he could see at least half the bay was loaded with those pallets, and squinting slightly, he could see the symbols on the side. They were eezo canisters. The raw stuff that you could use in just about anything. This much of it must have cost these new bloods a pretty credit, but given what he'd heard, they could afford it.

Just as he was getting a plan in his head, the crate he was hiding behind moved. Not slowly, but like a truck, and thanks to the way he was standing, it clipped him in the jaw hard, causing him to fall back with a grunt. Still, his body allowed for him to roll onto his side as he fell, his hump becoming the center of gravity and spinning him around so it was facing an enemy, while he drew his gun, and on instinct, fired at the crate, causing everything else in the bay froze.

"Ah, Mr. Urdnot, we've been expecting you," said a booming voice from above, and Wrex took a look to find his shot hadn't even dented the crate in front of him. It had scuffed it a bit, but damaging it was beyond his weapon. Then he looked up. And up. And up a bit more, until his eyes met those of a Terran. What he had mistaken for a crate of goods was in fact, the armored foot of this giant, who wore no helmet, leaving her face exposed, and revealing that asari like skin, which was brown rather than blue, though it had green hair atop its soft face.

"Ladies, I believe this is your cue," she said, and the nearby ship opened a small hatch, out of which soon came the four priestesses, who made their way as quickly as decorum would allow to the side of the bay with Urdnot and the Terran woman.

"Thank you, Claudia. If you could, we'd like a few moments alone with him," asked one of the red robes, and the Terran woman nodded, carefully stepping over the four of them, and then clapping her hands at the others of her kind.

"You heard her! Everyone back in the ship. We'll finish loading once their business is done," the order seemed to snap everyone out of the dormant state they'd been in since the shots, and everyone piled back into the ship, the door seal shut behind them, leaving the five krogan's standing there, staring at one another.

"So, you got in with the newbies?" asked Wrex finally, and the black robed female shook her head.

"Originally, we were with Guld's group. While most of us knew it was a losing proposition, it was better to die in a final glorious stand against our enemies, than simply fade away into nothing," she answered, a good krogan answer too.

"So then how did this come about?" he asked, gesturing towards the ship with his hand.

"We were caught, by a batarian raiding party that had slipped through the turians' defensive fleet over homeworld, and then were being dragged off to slave camps along with a hundred of our defenders. The slavers were trying to keep clear of those patrols, and got a bit too close to Terran space, and the Terrans were quick to capture their ship, along with most of the crew," this came from the red, and Wrex stroked his chin a bit at the mental image of it.

"You were in the forward hold, where they kept the good slaves. The others were in the rear, and got spaced at the first sign of trouble," he said this as fact, and even through the masks the priestesses wore, he could see a dark shadow cross their as as he spoke. It was the slavers standard operating procedure. Even if the bodies were recovered, the batarians would claim they were a medical transport, and a seal had blown out when they stopped for the patrol ships.

"The Terrans took the bridge staff, and executed them. Not slowly either. It seems they have little love for slavers," this last was said by one of the greens with a bit of admiration in her voice. Good, the krogan tended to hate slavers too. Power over another should be earned, not bought.

"That was four months ago. We were told the surviving batarians would be the first prisoners of the Ward, some prison planet they were setting up. They then offered us a choice. Return to Tuchanka, be simply four voices against the encroaching darkness, or be something more. A flare of light that could send that darkness scurrying away forever," as she spoke, the one in the black robes pulled out another ampule, and filled it with her blood again. Wrex, interested, just watched as she did this.

"Over these last few months, they tested us, observing and recording how the genophage worked. Within a month, thanks to those cloning tubes of theirs, they'd discovered a way to cure us. Two weeks ago, they had made it so not only were we immune to reinfection along the same vectors, but that we could do this," and with that she whipped her hand out, stabbing the ampule into Wrex's hand, and causing the battlemaster to wince as the blood went into him, while his free hand went to his shotgun, only to pause as it touched the handle, and realize that he was about to shoot a holy woman who was the hope of his people.

"Heh, you're getting slow, Battlemaster Urdnot. Two centuries ago you would have been able to dodge that," she said as she withdrew the ampule back into her robe, and let Wrex rub his hand against the numbness it felt.

"What did you do to me?" he demanded.

"You are, or will be within the hour, cured of the salarians' great weapon. Sadly the curative properties are one of the few things not passed on," she answered, and he stopped rubbing at his hand as he stared at it. A cure...not just a female fertile again who could become the mother of a new generation of krogan as he had expected, but something that could undo the damages they had suffered so long ago. Something that would make them a great power again. That thought had never even crossed his mind in all his wishes for the future.

"Why?" was his next question, as he continued to stare at that hand, dreading taking his eyes off it that he might awaken from this dream, and find it all a fiction.

"Why did they do this? I will be honest, I don't know. The Terrans are masters of genetic engineering, those cloning pods of theirs allowed them to do in weeks what should have taken decades, if not centuries. In all that time, they were only kind to us, never did they ask anything for what they did. It was only seven days ago that one of them laid out their plan," said the one in the red robes.

"And what plan do they have in mind?" he asked, thinking over everything the krogan's could offer for such a prize, and always coming back to the same thought. The Terrans were better. Stronger, faster, smarter obviously considering this cure. No resource the krogan had could ever match something the Terrans did better, so what possible payment could they offer.

"They simply want us to be more than what we are," she told him, and Wrex looked at her like she'd just said the sky was full of tables. That line of thought didn't follow through to any logical conclusion he could make.

"In the fifteen centuries since we left the homeworld, what has been asked of us? To learn? To build? To be? No, everyone who has asked something of the krogan people has asked one thing. For us to fight. So that is all we have, all we are, now. Before we were uplifted, we created art, forged cities, and made our world beautiful. Now all we are is hired guns, guns that are slowly rusting away, and will be nothing but dust all too soon," this was said by the two greens, trading off each line, like they had rehearsed it, and yet with a sincerity that came from the hearts.

"The Terrans know what that is like. They are the fusion of two races, one as we were before, and one as we are now. They have grown from both sets of experiences. The one who knows how to grow, who knows more than war has taught them to expand their horizons, to go farther with each hour. The one who knows how to fight has made them a unified whole. Their culture acts as a unit, even if they are not a universal military. They know how to grow, and how to do so safely, and now they offer us the chance to join them," said the black robed one at last, and Wrex stood there.

He'd heard a similar story from others, so he believed them, and everything they had done since their arrival said the Terrans meant what they said. They ended the cold war between the geth and the quarians. They refused the war that the Council seemed intent on dragging them into. Heck they'd actually brought a measure of peace to a section of the galaxy that had been lawless before.

"Why come to me then? Why not go right to homeworld and tell them of this? Plenty of young would rally around anyone offering a cure," he asked this, while finally looking up from his hand, and staring into the faces that would give his people a future.

"Because we are spiritual leaders. We can guide our people in the ways of the soul, but this task, breaking a sword so long covered in blood, and turning it into a tool for building, will require a leader of the physical world. They gave us a list of the active battlemasters, those who might lead our people, and of them all, only you have the youth to know how to change, and the age to know wisdom," offered the red, and Wrex nodded, before finally looking towards the ship.

"So, how do we begin?" he inquired, and the four priestesses, despite their masks, could be seen to smile, as the black robed one pressed a button on an omnitool he hadn't even noticed her wearing.

"Claudia?" she asked, as the thing chirped.

"Has he agreed?" came a quick reply from the voice of the Terran woman whose foot he shot before.

"He has, please open the hatch again, and you may resume loading the last of the supplies," she answered, the small and large hatches of the transport opening. Wrex felt the shudder of the deck as the Terrans marched out to grab the last few pallets of stored eezo, while that Terran woman came over to where they stood, crouching down so she wasn't quite so towering.

"Mr. Urdnot, we have to make a stop at the Factory, to deliver this eezo, but once we've done that, my ship would be pleased to escort you to Tuchanka. Would that be acceptable? Or would you rather get back on your own?" offered the giantess.

"Heh, might as well travel in style while I can," he said with a smirk, and then let the priestesses guide him towards the opening for them, while Claudia rose and began directing her people on where to place their loads.

"So, what do I call the four of you?" he asked as they walked up the ramp.

"We gave up our names when we donned the holy garb to lead the souls of our people in these dark times. Those names we took after we have given up as well, for we are no longer as we are. We asked the Terrans for names that would fit, and they have given the name Eve to me," said the black robed one.

"My sister and I are Mary and Lilith," offered one of the two clothed in green.

"And I am called Naamah," said the one in red. Wrex nodded at these names. They weren't good, sharp, krogan names, but they fit somehow, for these four who would be the ones to light his people's darkest hour. Still smirking to himself, Wrex walked with the four into the door, joining himself and his people to the fate of the Terrans.


	31. One Year

One year had passed since the Terrans had become known to the species of the galaxy. A year of relative peace. As the great powers of the galaxy shifted in their place, taking their positions within the new structure, the cracks that had begun to show over the centuries either broke completely, or were forced shut by the pressure. Yet, in all this, the Terrans had kept to themselves, dictating nothing to the peoples of the galaxy, trading only little, and then only outside the bounds of Citadel space.

On Irune, homeworld and center of the Volus business empires, the people had begun to stand on their own. Still they were a client race of the turians, their great trade ships, larger than even the mightiest warships, but without a single weapon to their name, were protected by turian guns. Yet, in secret and in the open, they began to build their fleets. Ship hulls, once empty for more goods, found themselves stuffed with the tools of war, should it ever come down to it, and increasingly, the turians found their services less required.

On Khaje, the great cathedrals of the hanar sometimes fell into hushed whispers, as blasphemous statements echoed among those quiet halls. The Terrans technology was great, and their mercy was becoming known. Surely they were the Enkindlers reborn, said those whispers, and many a tendril would point to them as someone to whom the hanar should be joined. Those in charge kept those voices in whispers though, knowing that if they did so, it could bring down everything they had built for themselves since climbing out of the sea.

On Dekuuna, the great forger of the mighty elcor, one couldn't take a step without some pheromone argument assaulting your nostrils. The streets were often awash in those who protested their treatment at the hands of the Council. Always in the background, their voice ignored by those who took their slow and deliberate speech to mean they were slow of wit as well. The leaders listened, but ultimately kept themselves joined to their allies of a thousand years.

On Sur'kesh, the words spoken in whispers on other worlds, were shouted openly between Dalatresses. Powerful families threatened to tear apart the foundation of their society, until finally a quorum was called between the greatest families. There, it was, after days of heated debate, decided to stay their course. It had only been a single year so far, and the Terrans were strong, but so was the Council. The technology they were developing would soon even things out, and the status quo could return.

On Palavan the whispers were heard not at all. Their society prided itself too much on their unity to allow such things to pass their mandibles. That was not to say nothing changed. Values, the core values of their people, had been shaken. The young had seen the old lead them into ruin, because the old believed themselves to be the sole arbiters of what was just and right in the galaxy. Now they strove to live up to the ideal itself, and provide true justice, and in the months that had followed the Shanxi Incident, they had lived up to that, routing out corruption where it hid, in their own ranks and the galaxy, and giving the turians back a measure of pride, not in themselves, but in their purpose.

On Thessia, words were spoken openly, but softly. Discussion and deliberation on talking points were found in every cafe, and every lip seemed to have a different opinion on it. The Matriarchs were still respected, however, and when they called for order, it came. They quieted the fears of the people, reaffirming that they, the eldest and longest lived of those in the galaxy, would continue to be that guiding hand that would shine the light of wisdom in those dark corners where fear and ignorance continued to fester.

On all these worlds, life slowly settled down to what it was before. There were new faces in the galaxy, but to those who had been there for so long, such things happened. For the majority of citizens, this was just another story on the evening news, something to tell the children about at bed time. Some still worried, but they became fewer and fewer as the weeks went on. Soon, on most worlds, there would be no talk of the Terrans as anything special.

On most worlds...

OoOoO

The Hegemony Senate was at a stand still. That wasn't rare at any time, but with everything that had been going on, it was becoming a problem. Before, it was easy. Take a few 'volunteers' from the military caste, and you could simply go out and claim a few colonists on some backwater, bring them back, and make a profit on the market. Now, with the Council breathing down their necks on everything, the Senate demanded to know where their forces were at all times. It was becoming harder and harder for the Cultural Committee to do it's job.

New blood was always needed. If not for the mines, than for those in the upper castes that had...exotic tastes. Tastes that were best served by an asari whom you owned, or perhaps a nice turian man, broken over weeks of training. Now you were lucky to find a pleb, the lowest rung of batarian society, up for grabs on the market. The trade of the Committee was being disrupted, and life was becoming harder for those head hunters, and every single one of them knew who to blame.

The Terrans. Worse than being impossible to catch, as four expeditions had shown, their space was almost as impossible to pass through. You would be minding your own business, using the lesser known relays to jump behind a turian picket line to make a stab at some out of the way colony, and then a huge Terran ship would just appear in a flash of light. Not that many knew what happened after that, as there had yet to be a single survivor of the attacks. Oh, they knew the Terrans claimed their people were merely being held until they were rehabilitated, but the batarians had made similar claims of Council agents that had vanished in their space, and knew it for the lie it was.

So business had begun to slide, as skilled slave became harder to find, and the plebs had been pushed into roles formally filled by outsiders. In just one year of this the Cultural Committee had had to put down a dozen revolts, always caused by some pleb, moved up into administration, growing just a bit too full of himself, and encouraging the lesser people to rise up against their betters. Worse, due to the frequency of them, they'd had to start leaving some of them alive at the end, or risk bankrupting whoever was in charge of the business, thanks to the rising price of slaves.

This could not continue. They had to take some of the momentum back. Before, they had been the fourth most powerful race in the galaxy, able to match the turians, or even those blasted asari shot for shot. Now they were failing fast. Their fleets weren't as well manned, and their tech was falling farther and farther behind the times. They'd even had to pay for the latest developments lately, rather than simply raiding a salarian colony and grabbing a few of the frogs to do that sort of thing for them. It was disgraceful.

There were whispers though. Leviathan Command, the tech development center that had helped propel them to match the greats of this galaxy, was working on something. Whether it was a plan or a weapon, or something even more, no one could say, but everyone working the factories noticed how fast they had converted to pumping out these walking tanks the salarians had designed for them. Something was coming, and it was going to be big.

OoOoO

On Tuchanka, things were growing better for the average krogan. Not that that was hard, considering how fast things had gone downhill. A year ago, they'd been warriors, born to fight and die. Then they'd just done mostly that last part, when the Blood Pack had tried to whip them into an army and throw the turians off their world. The assaults had been ill planned though, with many just being a variation of running screaming at the bastards. Thousands of krogan had fallen to the guns of the turians then, and thousands more in the turian counterattack, which left what little civilization the krogans had had before ground down to just families, struggling to survive the blasted wastes of their home, begging at turian boots for food.

That had been their lot, one last grasp for a victory that was far out of reach, and now death. Even the Blood Pack was different, being run by a vorcha of all things. No krogan leader could step up to unify them, and those who looked on their people, did so with the dejectedness of a person knowing that had once been great, but were now a thread snap away from being nothing but a memory, a faded nightmare of the past for asari to tell their daughters at night.

Then the light had come again. The Mothers to guide, and the Father to lead. Five months ago they'd simply appeared as an answer to the prayers of their people. They gathered to them all the disparate clans, promises of food and clean water enough to entice even the most cautious of holdouts to come to their halls. Once they had their people gathered, they lived up to their promises ten fold, providing not just sustenance, but wisdom to their people.

The Mothers spoke of what they had once been. No, not the mercenaries and warriors of the last millennium and half, but farther back. They spoke of grand cities that had once dotted the world, of forests and swamps that had covered their planet. The krogans of the past had broken that world, tamed those forest, and drained those swamps, to make this a world of not just survival but life as well. They spoke then of what had befallen them, the fires they had used on each other that had burned all that.

The Father spoke then. He told them that such was the way of their people. They were violent, for the world they came from demanded it of them. And then, when they had nearly destroyed themselves, the salarians came. They had promised much, but demanded something in return. They had demanded that the krogan forget those cities, forget the tamed wilderness. The salarians needed them to be violent, to be savage and powerful, where none of their own could be.

And the krogan had become that. They had embodied violence and death, with none able to stand before them. Even the rachni, the seemingly endless horde of insect like monsters, had been broken by the legions of krogan, until the last brood mother had met here end at the barrel of a krogan rifle. Victorious, they had joined the Council on their great Citadel, to sit at their side like some kind of trained dog, to be used when it was in their best interest.

But the krogan were not hounds, and they had been asked to become war itself, and so continued to fight. After all, what else could they do? The salarians had demanded they give up all else, so violence was all they had now. Then they were a threat, and rather than try and help them discover something more, the Council had simply gone out and found a new dog, the turians, and used them to beat down the old, shattering their war machines, and neutering their people.

Now here they stood. They could accept this, go out like some of the young wanted, in one last blaze of glory, prove the Council right, that they were nothing more than dogs. Or they could spit in their faces this one last time. They could build again, learn again. There were works of art buried under the dust of two thousand years our there. They could make art like that again, even bring the old up from those forgotten times, and shove it right in the face of those fools, show them what they had lost by forcing the krogan to be their warriors.

This was the rallying cry that gathered the krogan people, the banner to which they began to flock. The Council races looked at this, and just shook their heads. The krogan, as anything other than warriors, was an absurd ideal. Still, it would keep them quiet, and in this time of turmoil, that was a blessing. So they were left alone, with a few watchful eyes being kept, but otherwise they were allowed to be that something more that the Father promised they could be.

The gun would always be the great tool to the krogan, and most still trained in that, but to be a part of this new Tuchanka, this Convexity as the Father dubbed their state, you must know more than just a gun. Now when a young krogan put down his weapon after a day's training, he would take up the plow, and grow a field, or take up the brush and paint an image. Slowly, but surely, they were learning to enjoy what they could be, if someone simply showed them that there was more to life than just violence.

In secret, far from the eyes of the Council, or even their fellows, the Father and the Mothers met with the greatest of this new generation of krogan, the ones who made masterpieces, or made new life from the dust, or even a new engine for a vehicle. These were given a special rite, an almost holy ritual where the blood of the Mothers would be gifted to them, and the impurities of the salarians could be shed. These young ones, male and female alike, would leave, but speak not a word of this miracle, for the time was not yet right for others to learn of it.

So passed the krogan's year. First building themselves up in arms, only to be put down farther than ever before, and now to rise again. Their allies in secret continued to deliver things, supplies of both nourishment and rebuilding. The Mothers and the Father knew this put them deeper and deeper into the debt of those who gave them these things, and always feared that a price would be asked. But no shipment came with such a demand, and so they moved onwards, towards a future that would be bright for every krogan.

OoOoO

On Rannoch, the year had brought the most changes of anywhere else in the galaxy. One year ago, no one living walked the plains of the great desert. One year ago, the sky had only held the ships and platforms of the geth. One year ago, there had been no plans for the future, no hope for a chance at joining the galactic community. One year ago, only mechanical eyes had seen the great sun rises and sun sets of the world, or seen the beauty of the rock canyons as shadows danced on every wall.

Now there were people here again, young and old, tall and small, and most importantly of all, biological and mechanical. Quarians now roamed the great city of the south, dubbed New Rayya by the people. Here they laughed, played, and cried. Here, the isolation of three hundred years seemed to fade away, and it was like they had never left this place they called home. Each month brought new colonists from the Flotilla, and soon there would not be a quarian left in space, as they reclaimed their lost homeland.

The geth looked at this, and simply saw what many of them had wanted during the long years. To a geth, right was the quarians in their cities, with children and families. Some even wished to resume their old roles, as helpers of the quarian people, but more wanted to explore. Freedom granted to them by the techniques of the Terrans expanded their horizons. No longer did a thousand voices need to come together to form a thought or idea. Instead they could exist on their own, watching the world play out before them.

Not that this freedom had come without cost. As they had been told, they had welcomed a time limit to their lives, a limit that had not before existed. More than that though, the platforms were denied to them. Those bodies they had lived in were too complex, too many moving parts of their single minds to run, similar to the Terran AIs own woes in that regard. They had not fully been denied the world, however, as every day brought more of the holoprojectors to their world, allowing them freedom both within themselves, and within the the real world.

The Terrans watched all of this, encouraging peace between the two peoples who had stood apart for so long. Here, they found that the strife of three hundred years was not so easily bridged. The quarians often hated the geth, for what the machines had done, and the newly independent geth sometimes hated back. Neither group was willing to come to blows over this, however, and they were slowly seeing things through. Images soon began to circulate of a small quarian girl in her bubble, handing a floor to a platform, as a sign that they could live together.

Slowly, peace began to settle on Rannoch, and her people, both of flesh and metal, began to expand outward as well. Though space was plentiful on Rannoch, some found the 'Walled Garden' stifling. It was home, to be sure, but there were horizons yet untapped. Many of these came to the Factory, to learn to build and invent as the Terrans did, while others clamored for the right to join in the defense of their world, despite the disadvantage of mass they faced.

So jobs were found, places where those with inventive minds, talented hands, or strong hearts could do what they dreamed of doing. Those at home, encouraged this growth of character, as new geth were coded, and new quarians born. Both were seeing rising populations like they had never before known, and those horizons would need to be broadened, if that growth was to continue. And thus passed the year on Rannoch, and her people found themselves enjoying a dream that had been a long time coming.

OoOoO

The galaxy spun on as these events played out. The stars seemed heedless of the tiny lives flitting through their space. And yet, not every life was ignored. Deep in the Darkness, and within the Light, things stirred. The Day was approaching much faster than anticipated. Events were spiraling towards the Time, and preparations were only half done. Still, those in the Dark had done this time and time again, and could see the familiar patterns already emerging. The Pattern ensured their victory.


	32. A Battle's Beginning

The morning team was full of dull eyes, and drawn faces. Shifts on a world like Rannoch were necessary, sure, but it was duller than one would really expect. Most of the people now had no family there, some had even left their loved ones behind on Earth or one of the larger Sol colonies to be out here. Their service was appreciated though, with many a smile passing their lips as they looked at the various pictures that had been gifted to them by the people below whom they safeguarded.

The afternoon team came in to take the bridge, the captain saluting the fleet admiral, who had no orders to give. Everything was quiet, and would hopefully stay that way for some time. So the afternoon team let their counterparts go off to whatever they wanted. Some would rest, meditating, or even dozing off if they so chose. Some were going to train, to further sharpen their skills. More than a couple were probably going to get a drink of some slurry in the galley, before enjoying the show from the planet below.

Even the afternoon bridge crew were partaking in that last, as monitors often showed not the space around Rannoch, but the space around New Raaya instead. There were parties in the street, as quarians, Terrans, and even a few geth put on performances, all in celebration of the city's one year anniversary. Smiling faces, roars of adulation from the crowd, and a dozen other things marked the occasion. Today, even though few had family below, this place was really starting to feel like home.

Some watched in awe as the quarians played traditional instruments of their people. Segmented flutes with five holes on either side, great metal drums that rang like gongs, or chimed like tiny crystals. Other behind the spectacle of a young Terran boy, juggling rings of light he pulled from his omnitool. The ones watching grew to applause as one of the rings dropped just out of reach, and drove itself into the metal stage, showing the sharp nature of the things, even as the boy added more and more to the act.

A few eyes were watching the colors playing off a much closer object, one that could be observed out of any port. Rannoch's newest satellite, a great mass of metal and wires, hung just outside the fleet's orbit. On board, almost all those geth who chose to remain as they had been, to find their own path rather than take that handed to them by the Terrans, were celebrating themselves. It had been almost a year since the Factory had built them this thing, a computer complex larger than any other in the galaxy, into which many of their number had poured.

Now they thought with one mind, and were defended with barriers, both those of the mass effect fields, and pinpoint barriers designed by the Terrans. They lacked offenses, of course, as the quarians would never have allowed them to have a single weapon on the great construct, but to many, they would have been a waste of resources. They were defended by the Terran fleet, and in the year they had known them, the Terrans had shown themselves to be both powerful defenders, and close allies.

Today was a day for celebration. That did not mean that the guardians of the world were totally distracted, however. When a small blip came on their sensors, a dozen eyes and hands turned towards zooming in, and identifying the anomaly. For a few moments, it seemed that the anomaly was just that, a glitch in the sensors, but then, slowly, the number of objects increased. Going from one, to a dozen, to hundreds, to finally thousands all at once. Worse, an alarm claxon sounded, fold communications had stopped working, causing everyone, on every ship in the fleet, to leap to their stations.

It was a testament to the skill of the soldiers of the Federation that everyone was in position in minutes, so they could all watch as the objects grew closer. They were, to put it bluntly, odd things. They registered as craft, but of no known design. To many, they appeared to be knives, thin and sharp on front, with cylindrical parts behind spouting fire. Weapons were locked onto them, missiles and reflex turrets all blasting out with fury enough that a world could have been striped bare by their power.

The protoculture blasts of the reflex guns splashed against the barriers of the knives like water, and worse, had just about the same effect. The bubbles of light and force popped as they always did with anything under a cruiser weight, and yet that did not stop them, and the bubbles seemed to have an infinite number of layers beneath each other, preventing the backwash of energy that left the ships helpless, and allowing those knives to slice ever closer to the fleet and the world behind.

The missiles might have done more damage, but as each grew closer, the glow of their mass effect fields covering the long, powerful weapons, lances of light, similar yet subtly different from the reflex turrets, shot out of the darkness behind the knives. These weapons slammed home, and every Terran got to watch as their weapons, that had never once failed to take out a target, were all destroyed in seconds, allowing the knives free flight right up to the fleet itself, while they could do nothing but watch.

Many of the knives slash past the fleet, making a line towards the world behind them, and several ships began to turn, intent on somehow stopping them once they hit the atmosphere. No ship could finish the turn before the knives hit them, however. The pointed ends were as sharp as they appeared, ripping their way through the metal hulls of the great war machines. The impacts were enough that every trooper was knocked from their feet, rising slowly, some in sight of the odd projectiles.

Within seconds, the nature of the weapons was made clear, as blades burst apart, scattering chunks of shrapnel all around. Those who were armored found that their metal skin provided protection for the moment, the blows driving them back, but not cutting into their flesh. Those without armor were sent reeling, their blood and flesh exposed on the cold deck plates beneath them, unable to do more than scream for a surprising moment, before even worse noises than explosions began to echo through the halls of the ships.

Gunfire and cannon blasts, and even a few metal on metal fights. Warmechs, squat and powerful machines, came out of the blades hilts. Five to a blade, and at least ten blades per ship, meant many problems for the crews. Especially as those with weapons in their hands, or on their armors, found the enemy mechs to be as protected as their ships outside from protoculture weapons. Many a Terran was cut down as they fired impotently at the enemy, whose own shots seemed to find them, following them even around corners or behind cover.

On the planet below, most of the people heard a small tone sound throughout the city, and the Terrans, if they weren't already moving, ordered their neighbors to the shelters at the city center. Protect bunkers, they would hopefully be safe there, as the alert continued to sound through the air. Above, eyes could see streaks of light as they tore through the sky, the blades breaking apart from the friction of reentry, but allowing the blade handles to land with explosions of fire, dirt, and glass.

Each handle broke apart, even as the defenders of the city, Quarians, micro Terrans, and the armored forms of the normal Terrans, all took their posts. A few geth, both the holographic independent ones, and the a few of the collective intelligent ones that were in platforms, began to rush to the defense of the city as well. They took up what arms they could, and soon not a single one of the ships that had come down onto the planet had less than a hundred weapons pointed at them.

As the dust, smoke, and debris slowly cleared from the air, every defender could hear the pounding of feet. Many were those of armored troops, their powerful strides clapping against dirt and stone. A few were far stronger though. Massive strides of metal that slammed down onto the ground, throwing more dust into the air. When a breeze finally came to clear away the clouds, everyone could see the hard fight ahead, as each ship had almost a hundred armored batarians, and one of the mechs in them.

The mechs were odd looking to the quarians, but any of the Terrans could have told them what they were. Destroids. Or at least, things that resembled them. Forty-five feet tall, they were shorter than the full sized Terrans, but broader at the shoulders. The frames were powerful, with barriers shimmering over their metal hulls, while weapons on their arms shone in the dying light of the sun. Those weapons, a cannon on the right, and a gatling gun on the left, began to hum, and with a roar of fire, the Battle for Rannoch began.

OoOoO

The boy's hand flew over his omnitool. The circle of buttons clicked and chirped as he studied scans, adjusting and recalculating something. Around him, screaming civilians fled, even as the slow, plodding forms of the batarians in their armor came forward. Rifles out, they shot at targets of opportunity, taking down anyone that looked to be in an area without anyone threatening to trample them if they fell. This concern on the part of the attacks was made evident when one noticed their weapons fired darts, not solid rounds, said darts instantly felling anyone they hit.

The boy ignored this, going over his calculations again and again, while continuing to run with the crowd. About him, he saw a few soldiers, quarians, Terrans, and geth, point weapons at the oncoming enemies. Most of them, sadly, wielded protoculture based weapons, the powerful beams of light shooting out of them splashing against the multi-layered barriers of their enemy, who either stood their, impassive, or worse yet, laughed off the attack, before returning fire with either darts on unarmored targets, or mass effect weapons for those that were protected.

The advance of the ground troops was deliberately paced. They moved at a steady walk, their boots thudding against the hard stone heavily. Watching this, and pointing his tool at the horde, the boy took another scan of the things, before rushing down a side alley. Here, several of his fellow civilians were being directed by a geth platform, who shouted with that mechanical voice for them to flee, even as behind the boy came three batarians, their weapons drawn and ready to fire as soon as they had a good clear shot.

"Got it!" shouted the boy, drawing his hand back, and then spinning on his heel. The geth heard his cry, and wondered for a moment what he was talking about, before he pointed his omnitool at the oncoming trio of attackers. With a flash of light, an ozone smell, and the sound of a pop, the omnitool launched an attack. Lightning played out over the target, and the batarians had to blink away spots in their eyes as they looked around, two of them seemingly fine, while the third stood there for a moment, his four eyes going wide.

"AAAAAHHH-CRACK!-" the sound of his scream and the resounding crack of bones echoed over the stone walls of the alley. The batarian who was the source of the sound was nearly doubled over, his legs bent at angles that spoke of broken bones. Luckily, his pain response was quick to knock him out, his mind swooning, even as the other two drew their mass effect pistols and took aim. They were far too late, however, as the child before them struck again, this time the overload pulse hopping from the one he struck, to the other, causing the both to fall over as well, though neither of them broke bones.

"Intriguing," said the geth platform, even as it motioned the other civilians to keep running.

"Do you have a line of communication with the other defensive forces?" demanded the child of the geth as he quickly ran over to the victims of his attack, scanning them with his omnitool.

"Affirmative. Fold communications are jammed at the present time, however the more mundane lines of transmission, including hypernet uplinks remain active," answered the geth.

"Good, transmit this protocol out to all of the forces that can use it. Tell them it should disable these bastards," he said this while rushing over to the geth and pressing a few buttons on his omnitool. The side of the unit ejected a small data storage device, which the geth took, before inserting it into his own arm and sending the data off.

"This is Legion-Platform, to all points, I am sending a modified overload program that has proven capable of disabling the on foot attacks. Stand by," said the platform to the air, and soon, the sound of overload pulses, and more screams echoed over the city, as the defenders, formally unable to seriously hamper the batarian advance, found themselves on the offense now, driving the four eyes out of their city.

"What's the situation elsewhere?" asked the child, and the geth took a moment to correlate all the various reports it was getting, whittling them down to a basic overview of the battle.

"Currently, the ground forces are being routed at all points, with the wanzers keeping a distance from the city proper due to their bulk making it hard for them to maneuver. What mass effect weapons we have in the city are being used to fight them, but it is slow going, as few examples of that technology remain in wide use," as it spoke, the unit displayed a hologram of the city as it understood it, showing off the four wards, with the west seemingly being the one getting pounded on the hardest.

"The larger Terran defenders have all been cut down, the Wanzers displayed the ability to cause their fire to track those forces. The situation in space is much the same, with Wanzers overrunning the corridors of the vessels, despite the efforts to fight them off," the holo now shifted to display the fleet in orbit, and the boy nodded as he tapped out something on his omnitool.

"One, two, punch. Take out the fleet in orbit first, then the ground forces. With no way to fold in through the jamming field, you can destroy both at your leisure, and capture both materiel and prisoners, and pull out before anyone can stop you," said the boy.

"Affirmative," agreed the Legion.

"Has there been any contact with Gloval Station or the like?" asked the boy.

"Before the hypernet to outside the solar system was cut off with the destruction of the beacon, a distress call was transmitted. However, it is impossible to know if this was received," the geth informed him.

"Of course, can't make this easy for us. I'm gonna go help at the western gate for now, want to come with?" offered the boy.

"This unit feels it is its prerogative to escort you to the city's central shelter, not to a battle in progress," countered the unit.

"Normally, as a nine year old, I'd agree with you. But I'm also the one who figured out how to take down the batarians on foot. I think it's worth a shot to see if I can take down the big Wanzers before they decide to cut their loses and just start firing into the city, right?" asked the boy, and the platform considered that line of reasoning for a moment, before the head of the unit seemed to shrug.

"This unit will accompany you to the western gate," it said at last, and the two started off towards the position, the unit eventually picking the child up and carrying him, as the platform was quite faster than the young Terran, and it freed his mind up to continue working on the problem at hand.

OoOoO

"Keep firing! Those barriers can't last forever!" shouted the voice of the commander as he ducked behind a bit of wall again, just as another hail of gattling fire assaulted his position, causing a shower of debris that blocked his view for a few moments. This gave the man, Han'Gerrel, a moment to consider just what he was going to do. Normally, in his position, facing armored units without any of his own, you'd call in an air or orbital bombardment. They did have ships up there after all. However, those ships were facing the same problems he was, and that meant he was on his own.

Before him was a killing field. A dozen huge armored Terrans lay dead on the ground, most without ever having damaged the enemy they fought. Two had decided to charge the foes, and had given good account of themselves, their blades finding the barriers easier to penetrate than their blasters. Of course, that had left them open for counter attacks, and with both of them dead, and only two non-protoculture weapons on this defensive line, it was slow going to whittle down the enemy.

A few minutes ago, they'd gotten a boost to their moral, as someone in the city figured out a way to disable the ground troops with a modified overload pulse. You could still here a few groans, where fallen batarians lay disabled on the ground. A few screams too, as those large mechs rarely watched where they stepped, and many a soldier that had been at their side, now found themselves crushed underneath the iron heel of their so called compatriots, who never let up with the fire.

The units were huge, though not as large as the Terrans at their full height. Their barriers were seemingly impervious to protoculture weapons, and while easier for mass effect weapons to penetrate, the things were armored too. Only the pilots were exposed, with huge glass cocoons holding the drivers in place against the chest of the units. Said pilots seemed to be enjoying themselves, if those sadistic smiles were any indication, and Gerrel swore under his breath, as another cannon blast tore apart one of his positions.

"Hold fast, soldiers! Remember, that's our families behind us!" he shouted, trying to bolster their moral, or at least get them to die fighting. The latter seemed the most likely, given the two or so dozen mech units walking towards them. Still, they would make the four eyes pay dearly for every foot of Rannoch's soil they defouled with their presence, and Han'Gerrel was just about to pop up and give a bit of return fire, when suddenly, a glowing circle whized through the air with a crackling noise, flying overhead and then soaring towards the mechs in the distance.

The disk was covered with arcs of electricity, and seemed to mesmerize everyone on the battlefield as it seemingly came out of nowhere. It slammed home after a moment, ripping through the layered barriers of the enemy unit it had been aimed at, and then digging into the glass cockpit. The circle of light burst apart as it entered the enclosed space, and one could literally watch as the controls the batarian had been using died, leaving the unit completely stopped, before it fell over with a deafening crash.

"I'm brilliant!" shouted a child's voice, and Han'Gerrel turned to find, unsurprisingly, a child standing there. What was surprising was the geth platform behind him, looking down at the young Terran boy, and then up at the quarian with an odd look in that single eye of his, as if asking him just what the heck was going on here.

"Now dance for me, fools!" he shouted, and spun around, as he did so, three more of the rings of light came off his omnitool, also crackling with lightning. The mechs, knowing what these would do to them if they struck home, tried to move out of the way, but the machines were bulky, and not designed for sharp turns. Worse, they'd been getting closer and closer as the battle had worn on, so two of the rings were able to hit their target with ease, with similar results. The third did manage to turn the unit enough to avoid behind hit in the cockpit, but stumbled into the unit beside it, causing both to fall down in a tangled heap of metal limbs and whining servos.

The return fire followed soon after, but the Terran boy seemingly danced through it, the gattling fire missing him, sometimes by inches as he wove his way through it. The cannons couldn't even get a bead on him, and every shot of them went wild, striking either the city behind or the ground around him, sending showers of dust and debris into the air, which only made him harder to target, even as more and more of the light rings came out of that same cloud. In minutes, all of the mechs were as disabled as their groaning infantry counterparts, and a cheer went up through the soldiers.

"Kid, that was incredible," said Han'Gerrel as he approached the youth, who didn't even seem to hear him as he tapped something into his omnitool.

"We've still got a lot of work to do. There's forces at all the other main gates, and those in space to deal with. Can any of you drive me to the other positions?" asked the boy, looking up.

"That's for us to worry about. Give us the specs for those rings, and we'll send them to the other positions," offered the quarian, wondering why he hadn't done that like whoever had figured out the overload pulse had.

"If that would have worked, I would have done it already. It'd take an hour to modify an omnitool to do what mine does, and since it's biolocked to me, no one else can use it. Now get me a ride, soldier," he ordered, with all the authority in his voice of a seasoned veteran. The rest of the command around him looked to Han'Gerrel for orders, given he was the highest ranker here, and he stared at them for a moment, before gesturing with his arm.

"You heard the kid, move it! Find a working vehicle in this mess and get him there, ASAP!" he shouted at them, and the men and women of his command instantly moved, trying all the ground vehicles that were left, before a jeep was found that still worked, and pulled up to the boy and his geth, both getting into the transport as it pulled up.

"North sector was the worst hit after us. I'll get you there, and we can give them all the help we can, but if things get dicey, I want you out, got that?" ordered Gerrel as he took the driver's seat, and then gunned the motor towards the point.

"Shepards don't ever run away from a fight," declared the boy, and the quarian and geth both stared at each other, before the quarian had to turn his eyes back towards the road.

"Shepard? As in, Colony Administrator Shepard's nine year old son?" asked the Gerrel.

"Yeah? Why?" asked the boy, not looking up from his omintool as he continued to mess with it.

"Nothing, nothing," answered Gerrel as he sharply turned another corner, and drove towards the sounds of battle.

'Just that I think my career is going to be over after this,' he thought to himself, as he drove the son of his boss towards the danger, rather than away from it.


	33. Shepard's Command

"You think I'll let you run away!?" shouted the girl, her sword dripping in her hand. In front of her, the hardened soldiers were taken aback by the ferocity of her attack. Her body was covered in fluids, some blood, but mostly the hydraulic and cooling that came from inside their mechs. Behind her, one could still see the remains of three of their fellows, torn apart and busted up, with the pilots most definitely dead, or on their way there in the case of one that had been torn clean in half by her hands, and was being left to suffer.

The remaining two continued to run, their hands flying over their controls, trying to milk any bits of speed the units might have left in them. Of course, the girl just smirked at this, as the ponderous foot falls of the destroid style mechs were no where near as fast as her, and she hefted her blade, as long as she was tall, and probably several tons heavier, so that she was holding it like a javelin. Crying out with a war whoop, she tossed the blade forward, hurling it with all the force she could muster.

The blade flew straight and true, impacting against the barriers of the mech that had made it invulnerable to the ship's defenders before this point. That barrier only served as a minor impediment to the great blade, which seemed to dent the defensive field, and then impaling one of the mechs in the back, and causing the pilot to have that one moment of dawning comprehension as he looked down to find himself bisected by the blade, before life left his form.

"Yeah, not gonna happen!" she informed the last remaining combatant, rushing forward. Screaming as he realized what had just happened, the pilot of the mech pushed every button on his control panel related to weapons, and his guns started to fire. Cannon blasts, huge chunks of metal propelled by magnets and mass effect, tore through the air, but never came close to their target as she ran to the side. His gatling gun roared as well, a staccato of fire ripping into the deck plates, but the girl seemed to defy gravity as she shifted to run on the wall, dodging every shot.

The girl then reached him, her hand whipping out to grab her blade's hilt, tearing it free with the sound of grinding metal, and causing the mech to fall apart, as she slashed with it, severing the ends of the arms, and most importantly, causing the weapons to jam. The slugs already flying down the barrels became stuck, and as she landed just behind the mech, the arms exploded into shrapnel and slag, the pilot screaming as the sharp bits of metal tore through his systems. Luckily for him, as he felt back, his cockpit was untouched. Unluckily, he was now staring straight up at the girl.

"Heh, I must admit, it's ballsy of you four eyes to use an old human design for your mechs. But you know, we stopped using destroids for a reason," and with that, she brought her foot down onto the cockpit. The glass in front of him held for a moment, giving the pilot a brief glimmer of hope, maybe he would survive this. Then the glass began to crack. First a small crinkling sound, and a line appeared. After that, a series of cracks, a web design of them began to spread, then, with a final crash, the foot came down, and the batarian's final sight was of a boot heel, before it crushed him flat beneath it.

"Windows are a structural weakness," she said as she withdrew her foot, scraping off the gore onto the mech as she did so. Looking back, she totaled up her kill count, and then pushed a button on her omnitool.

"This is Cadet Shepard, five more targets on deck seven taken out," she said into the device, before a chirp acknowledged her.

"This is Captain Shepard, good work Jane. We're herding the rest into the docking bays, the veritechs can rip these fools apart. Now get down to deck twelve and take an escape pod," came the voice of her mother over the comms.

"Mom," she began, but was cut off by another chirp from her tool.

"That's an order young lady. You're not being sent away just because. The colony needs defenders as well, and you'd be more help down there than up here," explained the captain, and Jane nodded at the logic.

"Acknowledged ma'am. Good hunting," she said, and then rushed towards the gravivators for the deck she was on. Around her, she tried to ignore the signs of battle. Dead batarians in their mechs were one thing, but she saw far too many armored Terrans laying beside them. Most had their armor blown off, and had been the clue that Jane had needed to send a message that somehow, the batarians were locking their shots onto the armor itself. With that bit of info, they'd been able to strip off the armor, and switch to melee weapons to just rip the things apart, especially the veritechs which were large enough to just crush the batarian mechs in their fists.

"Jane? Jane, are you there?" came a new voice from her omnitool, and Jane skidded to a halt in her run, bringing the device to her face, and looking into the eyes of her brother down on the planet.

"Jon, what are you doing on this frequency? We're in the middle of a battle," she demanded.

"Yeah, that's the reason I'm calling you instead of mom. I can't get through any to anyone of rank, and I've got to know what's going on up there, and I have an update from the ground," that brought the girl up short. The ground defenders had been cut off since the start of the battle, so an update would certainly be welcome.

"Well, out with it little brother," she said, and he nodded.

"We've got the batarians mostly contained now. Their infantry seems to have overestimated their new technology, and I designed an overload pulse that just takes them out in one shot," responded Jon.

"Really? How'd you manage that?" she asked.

"Easy, they're using some kind of layered barrier system, but each barrier would need it's own ME generator, which are never light affairs. Taking that into account, and their slow pace, I figured they had to be heavy as heck, probably several hundred pounds a suit, and were using a secondary mass effect field to allow them to move. A pulse that disables only that field leaves them disabled until we choose to pick them up," he said, not really bragging, just explaining.

"I'm guessing that wouldn't work on the destroids they've got, right?" she followed.

"Probably not. The systems in the armor have to be simple, due to space constraints, so the computers can't say, shift one of the layers to make them lighter. Plus, I would expect them to make the mechs light enough to move even with that field disabled. They are however, rather weakly armored in their cockpits, as I've found out. I've been disabling them with a few electro magnetically charged energy chakrams" he answered, and she nodded.

"Good to know. Sounds like you're winning down there. We've just about gotten rid of the boarders up here, so they lost on both fronts," she said, and it was Jon's turn to nod at Jane.

"We've still got the problem of whatever ships launched these things from, however," he informed her.

"What makes you think they launched from ships?" Jane asked.

"No way those knife ships these things landed in were long range, and what reports I have access to say you guys up there were boarded by the same," he explained.

"Well, if they're out there, they're cloaked, how are we going to find them in all of space?" she asked.

"That's easy enough. We know they're projecting one of those fold jamming fields. The one from Armestris was only ten light seconds across, which means they'd have to be somewhere within a light second of your position to get maximum coverage of the planet. What's more, hiding like that implies three things. A mass effect field generator to hide their mass, a heat sink large enough to store vast amounts of heat, and a way to maneuver without being seen. That means they have to be big, and close. A few blind fires of your reflex turrets should force them to show themselves," he threw up a simulation on her screen beside his face so she could watch.

"And then what? If they've got those layered barriers on those ships, we'd be just be able to stare at them impotently, before they start flying circles around us," she countered.

"No, no, they would need to be flying at low power right now. The best heat sink in the universe would still have limits, and they'd what to preserve as much of their combat potential as possible just in case you did find them. That means they'd have to spin up their mass effect fields to combat levels, and that gives you a few minutes to fire every missile in the fleet at them before they can get away," offered the nine year old.

"That would be great, if we had any left. The missiles were drained in a first strike salvo on the knives. They shot them all down somehow," she said, not able to offer more than that it happened, as she hadn't watched that bit of the show, before the mechs had invaded and she'd begun the fight for her life.

"That's news to us down here, but it only delays the counterstroke. If you can't use the missile, you'll need to be the missile," he said, smirking at her in the image, and then getting her to start smirking back.

"And that would work?" she asked.

"It should. The point defense barriers are energy in nature, but backed up by the mass of the ships behind them. It should allow you to direct sufficient kinetic energy into the enemy ships to overcome their barriers, especially if they're using the layered system," he said, and Jane nodded.

"Got it, I'm off to the bridge then. If we don't see each other after this, little brother, you be sure to keep dad safe, okay?" asked Jane, and Jon nodded.

"Of course, you big barbarian," he told her, before signing off. Jane then started towards the gravivators, leaping into the tube without a second thought, and starting to pull herself up towards the bridge section. Luckily, unlike the lifts used in Citadel style ships, Terrans had come up with an easier solution to transport between decks. They just turned off the gravity inside tubes, allowing the user to climb up or down to their floor as fast as they could. It sometimes got cramped, but it was certainly faster than anything the Council had in their ships.

OoOoO

The Conclave Chamber, empty until minutes ago, was awash in light as projections filled the air above the meeting table. Five of the seven members of the Conclave were present, only Exedore and Amalgam having been off station when the news had come in. Another attack, another desperate situation. This one was far, far worse, however. The target wasn't some backwater planet only colonized months ago. It was Rannoch, with over a million quarian citizens, and a hundred times that many geth, caught in the crossfire.

"We have to do something!" shouted Vai'Gerrel at last, her voice dripping with frustration. The news of the attack had reached them less than an hour ago, and for the last five minutes they'd been going over contingencies, back up plans, and every single resource they had at their disposal. It was just, Rannoch was so far off the beaten path, they had no ships able to assist. None of the Flotilla resources were close enough to get there in less than a week of relay hopping. Worse, the anti-fold field around Rannoch was over two light seconds in size. Even at their best speed, it would be hours before Terran ships could get there to assist, and even if they could, this enemy seemed immune to their primary weapons from the reports they'd gotten.

"Conductor, we are considering every approach, but it would seem this assault was well planned. We can't jump in blindly into the situation," said Breetai, as the overhead display updated again. In their view as Rannoch, with everything that could be seen around it. Mostly it was their own fleet, missing several large ships, probably destroyed via the invaders at some point during the battle. Oddly though, there was no massive fleet to match their own, just their ships in space, and on the ground one could see mech units, resembling destroids, firing into the city.

"We understand, Supreme Commander, but it is difficult to watch one's home burning, and being powerless to do anything about it," chimed in Solo, placing one of his hands on Vai'Gerrel's shoulder. Oddly, for some reason, the quarian found comfort in the touch of the geth, more so than she thought she should. Somehow, having someone in the room who understood exactly what she was going through, made a large difference in her own mental state.

"Agreed. We must get forces there, as soon as possible. We need to find out who was behind this attack, and why," said Vai'Gerrel, as everyone poured over the data they had, all trying to come up with some plan. Nothing they did could get forces to the battlezone any faster all they could do was watch from the probes they'd placed at the edge of the jamming field. Even using one of the SDFs would only get them a big gun there, with no one to fire at since, as far as they could tell, there were no ships other than their own.

"If we could just get the Flotilla's ships there faster, we'd be able to do something," commented Grant, and then suddenly Representative Hayes shot up, shouting 'Aha!' at the top of her lungs.

"We can get those ships there faster. Breetai, how many vessels do we have with the Flotilla right now?" she asked, pointing a finger at the blue skinned man.

"Hmm, I believe a few hundred. We decided not to send as many due to the Heavy...I see what you're getting at," he said, snapping his fingers, and then quickly typing in a few new variables into the sim they were watching. Going over the data quickly, he determined what ships were available, and then began to adjust for weight and mass of a fold.

"Yes, that could work. Conductor, we need your authority to execute this, but I believe it would give us ships on site in a few minutes," he said, sliding a hologram through the air over to her so she could look at the data displayed.

"Our ships have fold fields that are larger than the ships themselves. While it would be far more draining than normal, a fold can be executed that would bring another ship along with our own," he explained, and Vai'Gerrel nodded, beginning to type in command codes, even as Breetai did much the same.

"This is Supreme Command Breetai, by my authority as leader of the Federation Fleet, you are to assist our quarian brothers and sisters in defending Rannoch by using your fold drives to get them to the battle as soon as possible," he said to the face as it popped up in front of him.

"This is Vai'Gerrel to Heavy Fleet Command, we need you to perform a sync maneuver with the Terran ships present in the Flotilla. Get as close as you can to them, and allow them to fold you to Rannoch. Time is of the essence here," ordered the Conductor to the helmeted face of one of her own officers.

"It will be done," said the two together, and then quickly logged off, to begin preparations, needing no other orders as the battle was being observed across the Federation. At the Flotilla, the larger Terran vessels broke away from their fleet, as ships of similar classes began to pull ahead of the Flotilla. It would take several minutes for them to be in position, but soon the Federation would have an active force of arms on Rannoch again, and they could begin to try to piece together what was happening. After taking apart those who dared to attack them, of course.


End file.
